Intertwined
by Ladema03
Summary: One year after the Final Battle, Hermione Granger has returned to Hogwarts alone. She finds herself relating the most to the least-likely person she ever imagined—Draco Malfoy. Then, five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy is working at Gringotts Bank. An unlikely expedition has him growing close once again to the most enigmatic witch of his past—Hermione Granger.
1. Background

**Setting I (Part A Chapters):**

One year after the seventh book. Hermione and Draco have chosen to return to Hogwarts to finish their seventh year. Ron and Harry have bypassed the seventh year to begin training as Aurors.

 **Setting II (Part B Chapters):**

Five years after the seventh book, Hermione and Draco meet again, for the first time since graduating, through business that overlaps between Gringotts Bank and the Ministry of Magic.

Ownership of everything belongs to the brilliant J.K. Rowling.

Though I love and respect her and her stories, sometimes one must fulfill her own dreams and fantasies, as I have done here.

Please enjoy.


	2. Chapter 1a: Beginning

**A/N: This story weaves together two plot lines. Please see the immediately preceding Background Chapter for reference! All "part a" chapters take place in the year after the war, and all "part b" chapters take place five years after the war. This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _August 1998—_

If Mrs. Black knew what had become of her dank and fetid, ancestral home, every person down Grimmauld Place would have heard it. Mercifully, she did not. After weeks of hard work and toil, Number Twelve looked nothing like Hermione Granger remembered it. Gone were the worn steps and battered, peeling door. Gone were the musty hangings, the dark corners, and the lingering stench of death. Instead, windows were thrown open and rooms flooded with light. Houseplants and flowers returned life the rooms and hallways. Even the front steps were sanded, painted, and topped with a bright red, paneled door. Hermione tucked a stray curl from her bushy, brown mane behind her ear and smiled at the narrow façade basking in the sunlight. It had changed so much in the past few months, as had they all.

Hermione ascended the front steps as her thoughts flickered to her parents and the home that she would not be returning to. Hermione's parents were currently in Australia living happy lives, completely ignorant of the young woman that their daughter had grown to be. After the pain and shock of modifying her parents' memories wore off, Hermione could admit to herself that she knew her drastic actions were the right ones. Painful as they were, they had kept her parents alive and well, safely hidden from Lord Voldemort. Two months ago, she had arranged a private meeting with Professor McGonagall to discuss her parents, and even though the two witches had come to a mutual agreement, Hermione still spent a lot of her time pretending not to obsessively worry about them. Though she had secured their livelihood before casting that fateful spell onthe couple in their quaint, suburban home last year—and though the war was over—her mind still worried over the lack of a present resolution, which was so much worse to her. How would they return to their old lives? Would they even want to? What would they think of Hermione when they learned what their own daughter had done to them? Could the memory charm even be properly undone? Would she ever truly see _her_ parents, the loving and supportive couple that raised her, again?

Hermione pushed these questions from her mind as she opened the intricately carved, golden door handle—another new upgrade that replaced the ancient, serpentine handle that had adorned the house for generations under the Black family name. (Oh, how Mrs. Black would moan and shriek.) She and Professor McGonagall had agreed that it would be best for Hermione to finish her last year at Hogwarts, ensure the worst tumult of the war had died down, and then focus on rehabilitating her parents. She had to remain confident that this was the right choice, regardless of how it weighed on her chest.

Thus it was that Hermione entered her unlikely home, which she shared with her best friend in the world. Harry was sitting in the kitchen chatting with George Weasley, who was visiting for a few days while the final touches of his apartment in Hogsmeade were being made. After losing his twin brother Fred, and nearly his sanity, George had abandoned the flat they shared above their shop in Diagon Alley in favor of a newly-built flat above an equally newly-renovated shop in Hogsmeade, the charming village adjacent to the famous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. George was now sole owner of the joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and after the war he had continued with their plans of opening the strategically-placed, second location. The Weasley joke shop was one of few businesses that survived, and actually thrived, through the war.

Hearing Hermione enter, both young men turned and smiled in her direction.

"Hey, Hermione, come look at this," George said with a twinkle in his eye. "Our Hogwarts letters have arrived, and McGonagall even sent one to me. The old witch just can't accept that she never got us to complete our N.E.W.T.'s." George's smile immediately turned stale, which had happened every time he slipped and said "we" or "us," as he and Fred had done for their whole lives. Hermione quickly redirected the conversation.

"Harry, did you open yours?" she asked, letting the anxiety creep into her voice.

"Are you daft? I know you'd hex me into next week if I opened mine without you!" snorted Harry. The three laughed, something they'd finally begun to do again, and Hermione reached for her letter. She felt its weight and grinned in despite of herself, knowing it held a prefect's badge at the very least.

There was still time before Hogwarts resumed and Hermione was faced with a decision that would shape the course of the rest of her life. She needed to choose between returning to finish her last year of studies and moving on to join the wizarding workforce at the Ministry of Magic. She'd already been offered a job by Kingsley Shacklebolt. In a very un-Hermione-like fashion, she had been completely ignoring this decision for weeks. Instead, she focused on face-lifting the darkest and dreariest of abodes in which she now stood, which Harry had the relative misfortune of calling his home. Seeing as he had spent the majority of his life living with his neglectful and borderline abusive Muggle relations, the Dursleys, who trapped him in the cupboard under the stairs and treated him worse than a Malfoy house elf, this was a step up.

"What do you think, Hermione? Will you go back?" George asked. Hermione caught him and Harry exchanging a wordless but heavy glance. She looked down at the emerald green ink and swirling script, and she felt something stirring in her chest. In that moment, Hermione lost all doubts for the choice she had to make. As anyone may have predicted, Hermione Granger was going back to Hogwarts. She locked eyes with Harry and immediately recognized the nostalgia that bubbled to the surface. Without saying a word to one another, She also knew beyond doubt that classes and studying and exams were things Harry could never return to. For the first time in seven years, their paths were truly about to part.


	3. Chapter 1b: Beginning

**A/N: This story weaves together two plot lines. Please see the immediately preceding Background Chapter for reference! All "part a" chapters take place in the year after the war, and all "part b" chapters take place five years after the war. This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _April 2003—_

Draco Malfoy sat across from his mother and fiddled with his silverware. They had met for dinner in Burgundy at an expensive French restaurant that Narcissa Malfoy frequented since she took up residence at their summer home. She had slowly begun venturing out into the world again, which was easier away from her old social circles. It had taken Narcissa a few years to get used to living on her own (if living with a full staff of house elves could be considered alone), but she did adjust to her new lifestyle—and beautifully so, if Draco had anything to say about it.

Draco, on the other hand, had moved to a newly procured flat in London near Diagon Alley, which afforded him easy access to his work. His flat was heavily warded against muggles and wizards alike, which provided Draco with relative solitude in an overcrowded city. His flat, very unlike the other Malfoy homes, was modern and—in a word—austere. Though Draco spent half of his life traveling to exotic locations for work, he seldom returned with trinkets or artwork for himself. If he did exert efforts in finding magical artifacts or decorations, they were always intended for his mother.

Narcissa and Draco had met for dinner every month without fail since he completed his education at Hogwarts. They initially met to discuss plans for Malfoy Manor, which was being thoroughly renovated. The changes to the sprawling complex were so extensive that Draco had often wondered if it would have been easier to demolish the whole thing and start anew. They both knew without staying that the only hope either ever had of calling the Manor their home once again was to obliterate the chance of it recalling any memories. The shadows of its past were too dark for them to bear.

Narcissa sat quietly that evening studying her son with eagle eyes and a mother's wisdom. Anyone could see that Draco was preoccupied more than usual, but only she could see the truth behind his calloused, sarcastic veil. She knew by the clench of his jaw and twitch of his wrist as he rested a hand on the table that something unsettling had happened. She may not have been the perfect mother to him, especially during the war, but she could read all his little quirks and mannerisms as easily as the menu items in front of her. Draco only fidgeted when he was reeling from a shock and letting his mind pummel into overdrive in its aftermath.

"The bouillabaisse is lovely here, Draco," she said as she smiled at him. Draco looked up at his mother blankly.

"Yes, I'll try that tonight. What are you having, the same?"

"I think I'll try the special. Jean-François is a marvelous and inventive chef."

He nodded and rested his head in his palm, finger tips against his temple. Even with his mind racing, Draco always heard everything she said. It was one thing she loved about him that so starkly contrasted his father. Lucius Malfoy loved his wife dearly, but his worries had always consumed him to his very core, leaving no room for Narcissa or Draco alongside his inner turmoil. But Draco, no, he always made room for his mother. They shared a very quiet bond that easily escaped even the most scrutinous onlookers. An outsider seeing the two seated across from each other now would find only a proud, haughty woman attending to her son with mild interest, while her arrogant and cold progeny occasionally deigned to respond dismissively. Fortunately, neither of them cared at all for other people's opinions and let the witches and wizards around them think whatever they would.

Draco sat forward slightly, resting his arm back on the table. "I ran into someone today, who I thought I'd never see again," he said quietly. His eyes darkened as he spoke the troubling words out loud. Narcissa leaned forward, resting her arm on the table to mirror her son, barely touching her finger tips to his. He didn't pull away.

The waiter approached just then, speaking to the Malfoys in French, to offer meal suggestions alongside the preferred wine pairing. They both ordered with perfectly fluent accents, then turned their conversation to the latest renovation topic—paintings and tapestries for the new great hall.


	4. Chapter 2a: Preparing

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _August to September 1998—_

Getting ready for Hogwarts was a blur. Hermione met up with Ginny Weasley one week before their classes would start, and the two wandered through Diagon Alley to purchase whatever supplies they could find in preparation for their swiftly approaching start of term. Both would be in the same year for once, since Hermione had skipped last year to hunt horcruxes with Harry as well as Ginny's brother, Ron Weasley. Ron. It was strange thinking about Ron. Hermione's mind felt like an old creaking tome whose dusty pages splintered whenever her thoughts flickered his way.

Ron was the absent third of the Golden Trio, but neither Harry nor Hermione could fault him for being reclusive. He had taken the loss of his brother Fred very hard. After the war, he had spent all his time helping to rebuild the Burrow. When that was done, he spent all his time in his reconstructed room rummaging through his surviving possessions.

"Give him time," Harry and Hermione took turns saying to each other whenever Ron ignored another letter, blew off another meet up, or slunk up to his room to sleep when they visited the Burrow.

Ron finally did come around last week. Harry was on his weekly visit to the Burrow, and he and Ron spent a few hours chatting. Hermione had joined Harry, but she spent her time with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley in the garden instead of with the boys. That night at dinner, Harry and Ron announced to the Weasley family and Hermione that they had decided not to go back to Hogwarts. They would be meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt and would take up his offer to begin training as Aurors. Hermione was expecting this, but her heart still sank in her chest.

And so, Hermione and Ginny roamed the unusually quiet alley for wizarding shops together. They each bought a new set of cauldrons, a few textbooks, quills, parchment, and ink, plus an extra set of textbooks and scrolls for Ginny. Some of last year's sixth-years, who like Ginny were not repeating the year, had at least one or two remedial classes to take to make up for the deplorable teaching standards of last year. What could one really expect from a school that had been invaded by Death Eaters? Most students were too happy to be alive and on track to normalcy to be upset about a bit of extra classes and studying, especially if it meant completing their NEWTS after the traditional seven years.

"How's your list looking?" Ginny asked Hermione.

"I still need a new pair of dragonhide gloves and box of chocolate bars. Yours?" Madam Pomfrey had convinced Headmistress McGonagall to require all students bring a personal stash of chocolates to help combat depression and stress-induces hysteria.

"Ditto for the chocolates, and I want to stop in to see if George is 'round." Ginny grinned impishly and Hermione chuckled. The two had grown closer and closer, and Hermione found herself looking forward to having a female best friend for once. It was looking to be an interesting year for her, to say the least.

* * *

Time leapt by, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the oddity of the situation—Harry and Mrs. Weasley seeing her and Ginny off from Platform 9 3/4 as the Hogwarts Express prepared to disembark. Ron had stayed home, but wished them well at breakfast that morning. They exchanged hugs and waves, then Ginny and Hermione disappeared onto the familiar train. The two settled into an empty compartment, but Hermione had to leave after only a few minutes to meet with the other prefects and receive their assignments for the first term.

Bustling through the train corridors, Hermione smiled to see most students chatting excitedly, embracing, and laughing in good spirits. She couldn't help but notice the few that sat quietly with deep shadows under their eyes, though.

"Hermione!" a familiar voice exclaimed, and Hermione was immediately engulfed in a bear hug. Looking up, she saw Neville Longbottom's smiling face and returned the hug.

"Off to the prefects' car, then?"

Hermione nodded. "It's so good to see you, Neville! Ginny's just a few cars back. Catch up later?"

"You bet," Neville grinned and waived. Hermione marveled at how the awkward, pudgy boy from just a few years ago had grown into a tall, confident young man. One of few who, like her, Harry, and Ron, had defeated a horcrux, though Neville's came in the form of a giant and formidable snake.

Hermione entered the prefects cabin a moment later and was greeted by Professor Flitwick, who was beaming up at her from atop a table affixed to the front of the cabin.

"My dear Miss Granger! So glad you're joining us! We're just waiting for a few of the others to arrive before we get started. We'll keep this short if we can. Come, have a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Hermione's eyes darted around the room and recognized some of the faces from the years below her, but didn't know anyone well enough to join their small, clustered groups. She took a seat along the left side of the compartment behind a Gryffindor duo and scanned the room again. Her eyes went wide as she recognized an all-too-familiar sleek, white-blonde head and perpetual scowl at the opposite end of the room.

Draco Malfoy was seated much like her, nearby but slightly apart from a Slytherin group, and doing his best to keep his gaze to the floor. Hermione's heart fluttered in panic, and her right hand automatically shot up to clutch her left forearm. Her breath tightened, her eyes watered, and Hermione thought for a fleeting moment that the whole world would turn black and swallow her up. She felt herself being transported back to the large, empty room in Malfoy Manor and being pinned down by a crazed lunatic with a pair of wicked, hateful eyes boring into her skull. It lasted for three agonizing heart beats before Hermione realized the eyes she was locked onto were different, downcast and a clouded grey. Feeling her eyes on him, Malfoy flicked his gaze in her direction, then resting it on her forearm. The painful scar was just beginning to heal, but Hermione felt it throbbing under the sleeve of her jumper as if responding to his glance. Malfoy's eyes shot back to the floor, the cabin door opened again to let in two straggling fifth-years, and the moment passed. Hermione's chest loosened, and her vision cleared.

 _Bellatrix is dead. You are safe. Bellatrix is dead..._ Hermione repeated it like a mantra in her brain. Professor Flitwick began to speak.

"Thank you all for assembling, and may I be the first to welcome you back to Hogwarts! Our first order of business, the Headmistress would like for me to share with you that the Head, er, Girl and Boy will be announced later at the feast after the Sorting Ceremony. Badges will be awarded at that time, rather than them being sent in advance in your acceptance letter..."

Hermione listened half-heartedly to the diminutive man. Had she been thinking clearly, she would have been horrified indeed to find herself not devoting her full attention to a professor. Across the room, Malfoy unconsciously clutched his own forearm and seemed to be ignoring Professor Flitwick altogether in favor of his own thoughts.


	5. Chapter 2b: Preparing

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _May 2003—_

Draco rolled over and growled as a little green bird hopped and twittered around his nightstand. He waved his hand at it and muttered " _Silencio_ " as he dragged himself out of his warm, plush bed. He followed his usual morning routine: a quick, tepid shower, two poached eggs on toast, a flick of the wrist to tidy his bedsheets, and a handful of floo powder to take him to Gringotts Bank.

"Mister Malfoy, we've got a new client for you to meet with," a gravelly voice called to him as he stepped out of the large fire grate.

"Absolutely," Draco replied without missing a beat. "Which room?"

"Second to the end," the goblin owner of the gravelly voice growled.

"And?" Draco asked icily.

The goblin narrowed his eyes. "Eighty-two thousand, six hundred, and ninety galleons street value." Draco chuckled and walked down the hall.

"Each," the goblin called after him. Draco opened the second to last door on the left without pausing to knock.

The sight before him was one to take in even by wizarding standards. A slight man with long, white hair that hung about him like a cloud sat on the edge of one of three leather armchairs in the room. His robes were vibrant egg-yolk yellow, and his long, tasseled cap somehow managed to fall forward into his face as he inclined his head towards Draco. As Draco held out his hand to greet the eccentric man, he noticed that the man's eyes were reluctant to look upon the same spot at the same time, one preferring to drift slightly more inward than the other. To compensate, he shifted his focus from one eye to the next rapidly, making his eyes dance inside his head.

"Ah, you must be—" the strange man began in a quavering voice as he clasped Draco's hand. Draco noticed a triangular charm hanging from a gold chain around the man's neck, a symbol he recognized but couldn't place.

"Draco Malfoy," he finished for the man, but someone else in the room had said his name at exactly the same time. Seated in the second armchair, Draco now saw a dirty-blonde witch with a wispy expression and outrageous accessories similar to the man on her left, but younger. Her face plummeted Draco into the past, and images of floating candles, quidditch hoops, and a pristine black lake flew through his mind's eye.

"Looney Lovegood," Draco recalled, letting a bored drawl touch the edges of his voice. Though it had been years since he'd last seen her, Luna Lovegood seemed very much unchanged. The unkind nickname rolled off Draco's tongue, but bounced harmlessly away from Luna, who responded with a genuine smile and nod.

"Ah, so you know my daughter Luna, then. Very good," the strange man said, still holding onto Draco's hand. Draco looked at it pointedly, and the man's grip slackened.

"This is my father, Xenophilius Lovegood," Luna addressed to Draco. "He's the one who found it."

"Right," Draco said, sitting back in the third armchair. He waived his wand, and a tray of tea and biscuits appeared on the low, round table between them. From his inner pocket, he withdrew a small scroll and quill. These he set on the edge of the table in waiting.

"I imagine this is going to take a while," he continued in a flat voice, "so start at the beginning, Mr. Lovegood."

Xenophilius looked to his daughter, who nodded. He cleared his threat.

"Luna and I have been traveling for years. You see, in addition to editing the Quibbler, I occasionally write educational articles on important magical creatures or people." Xenophilius paused, accustomed to allowing people to scoff at his line of work, but Draco remained stone faced and silent. "We've hunted the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, and I used to have the most magnificent specimen hanging on my walls. That was before the, er—well, before." Draco narrowed his eyes, and Xenophilius continued.

"I've written a rather interesting piece on the natural intelligence of the _Gernumbli gardensi_ as well as the many inspiring properties of their saliva. Then, of course, there was my very famous article on wrackspurts. Oh! And there was that delightful article we did on the goralax, do you remember, Luna? A few years ago, I believe on our first expedition after—well, you know." His face sank a little, though Luna's remained her usual mix of distant and amused.

"Oh, yes I do!" Luna crooned. "That was such a wonderful trip! We met a vampire who agreed to sell us a pint of his blood. Very useful for gardening, you know. It's a natural slug repellant." Draco looked up from the few lines of notes he'd taken and coughed. He knew of several ways that people might want to use vampire blood, which was classified as a controlled substance, but slug repellant, or anything even remotely similar, wasn't one of them.

"Right you are, my dear!" Xenophilius beamed at his daughter. "Now if you're looking for an interesting read on vampires, there was also—"

"No, I'm not." Draco interrupted. "I'm only interested in the reason why we're meeting today. While I'm sure there are interesting articles about vampires available, I don't think they'll be in your periodical nor relevant to this task. If you please, sir." Xenophilius looked taken aback, obviously under the impression that Draco would indulge his musings. He fidgeted with the charm on his necklace, tossed the tassel of his hat out of his face, though it fell right back in place, and continued.

"Our most recent expedition was last month," Xenophilius began. "We went to the Ionian Islands, where we intended to find and study the Aquavirius Maggots native to the region. The islands are heavily populated with birds that love to feed on them, you see. But by a very unexpected stroke of luck, we happened upon a harpy nest." Draco's eyes flashed to Xenophilius and darkened a shade.

"Yes," Xenophilius continued, picking up on or perhaps just assuming Draco's interest. "It was a true nesting colony full of countless eggs. The young were not yet hatched, but considering the season I think they will be soon. If your skill is anything like your goblin associates have claimed, I think you can understand the situation nicely. Luna," he turned to his daughter, "do you want to explain to Draco the uses for harpy eggshell?"

"There's no need," Luna replied with a broad smile. "I'm sure Draco knows already. He's really very talented, you know."

"Splendid, my dear! Absolutely splendid."

"We'll need a map from you and as much of a description as you can provide," Draco said businesslike while rolling up his notes and stowing them safely back into his pocket. "I'll send in my—"

"Ahh, yes well that won't do." It was Xenophilius' turn to interrupt. "We understand exactly how valuable these eggs are, so we will not be reproducing any maps."

"How do you expect me to find your cargo, then?" Draco drawled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"We'll be providing you a guide."

"A guide," Draco stated in disbelief, now getting annoyed with the strange, wispy man. He wouldn't even accept green Curse Breakers onto his team, so he had no intentions of bringing along an outsider.

"Yes," Xenophilius replied brightly. "Luna, in fact." Draco waited a moment, expecting him to continue. When he didn't, Draco's lips parted to protest such a preposterous notion, but sound refused to come out. They stared at each other, allowing the silence to blanket the room until Draco recovered his wits and broke it with a sharp scowl.

"I don't believe you appreciate this situation, Mr. Lovegood. Harpies are the sort of vicious creatures that expertly trained witches and wizards don't return from. Most die before they can get a blood replenishing potion off their belts and to their lips. There's no material known to us that can counter their beaks and talons, and only the most complex magic can hope to contend with them or heal the wounds they inflict. I don't add people to my team that I'll have to worry about protecting. If Luna were to join, you would not see her alive again." Draco knew his line was harsh and intended it. He'd made his point, so he fell silent to let Xenophilius process it.

"With all due respect, Mr. Malfoy, you must not know Luna very well if you think her incapable of this."

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. He got to his feet and turned to the door.

"Mr. Malfoy, wait. What is it that you want? How much will make this worthwhile?"

Draco froze. For a fleeting moment, he seriously considered hexing the insolent man. Then, he clenched his teeth and said, "You clearly have not been educated about your position here, nor mine. I am a Malfoy. There is no sum that would make this trip under your stipulations worthwhile." With that, he left the room. He paused only for a moment to sneer at the same goblin that met him on the way in.

"Next time, Gruffjaw, see that my clients are properly educated on my terms," he barked before departing the building. The goblin growled after him, but he neither heard nor cared. He did not stop until he was outside Diagon Alley. He paused at an intersection, the left path leading to his favorite pub, the right leading to his apartment. In two days, he had run into two faces from the past that he'd tried very hard to put behind him. His life now was stable and exactly as he wanted it. Yes, things could be better—his mother could certainly be happier—but they could also be a lot worse, all things considered. He cherished the delicate balance his life had found. Then again, his bones were aching for travel, and a new expedition was calling his name like a siren.

Draco turned left, deciding that an afternoon of firewhiskey was just what he needed to clear his head.


	6. Chapter 3a: Meeting

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _September 1998—_

Hermione shuffled back to the cabin with her friends after a little over an hour. Her head was still swimming, and she could barely recall a word Professor Flitwick had said. She hoped this wasn't a precursor for her final year at Hogwarts. She so much wanted to immerse herself in her studies and reconnect with that part of herself that had been stolen by the war.

"Any sweets from the trolley, dear?" a wilting voice asked.

"No, thank you," Hermione replied, the corners of her lips curling up at the kind and ancient trolley wench as she sidled past. _Perhaps not_ everything _has changed_ , she mused.

She slid open the cabin door and was immediately engulfed by a pale streak. Luna Lovegood's smile spread from ear to ear as she crushed her dear friend into a tight hug. After a long moment, Luna pulled back and appraised her friend.

"Hermione, have you seen any ghosts on the train? I was expecting wrackspurts again, but maybe the ghostly auras have warded them off." Luna asked in a breathy voice, and her eyes twinkled up at Hermione.

"No?" Hermione scrunched up her face, then shook her head to clear it. She forgot what it was like to be around Luna, who had a knack for saying the most unexpected things possible. She let out a warm laugh as she hugged Luna again.

"How are you, Luna?! And your dad—is he well?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, being back on the train is a dream," Luna almost sang airily. "Dad is traveling for a month. He's searching for a wriggley-prank colony in Finland. They're supposed to be mingling again, but he also probably wants to get away now that he knows I'm safe."

Ginny coughed loudly, which sounded peculiarly like a biting laugh, and Hermione inclined her eyebrows. Neville and Parvati Patil, who had joined her and Ginny's cabin while she'd been in the Prefects meeting, both diverted their eyes. Parvati also turning her head to cover a grin.

"Is he enjoying Finland?" Hermione intoned lightly.

"Oh, yes, he's very drawn to exploration. We spent the summer in Bulgaria tracking a goralax mated pair while our house was being rebuilt. Such a beautiful couple..." Luna trailed off with a wistful look misting her eyes.

"Did you catch them?" Neville asked her politely. Luna's face immediately gaped in horror.

"You can't catch a goralax unless you want all of your fingers and toes digested digit by digit! What a horrible thought!" she gasped at Neville. "That reminds me, though. This is for you, Hermione."

Luna reached deep into her robe pocket and pulled out an old copy of the Quibbler. Hermione focused all her energy on _not_ rolling her eyes, but Luna carefully unfolded the creases and extracted a pristine letter for Hermione from within. Hermione recognized the scrawl on the front and the wax seal. Despite herself, she smiled warmly as her fingers clasped the letter.

"We ran into Viktor at a pub in one of the smaller towns quite by chance," Luna explained. "He seemed much more amiable than at the wedding, especially when Dad explained that we weren't secret Grindlewald supporters. He asked me to bring this back for you." Luna's voice was still melodious and light, but her eyes were surveying Hermione shrewdly. Hermione was itching to open the letter immediately, but she knew she'd have to wait until she was alone.

"Er—thanks, Luna," she sighed and tucked the letter safely into her pocket.

 _What could Viktor Krum be writing to her about after all this time?_

They had kept up a healthy correspondence through her fifth year, but it dwindled off in her sixth year as things grew more tense with Voldemort's rise. She hadn't spoken or written to him at all in over a year and a half at this point. Her fingers twitched with anticipation, but she distracted herself by pulling her school robes over her jumper and jeans and sitting down with her friends.

Parvati, sensing the lapse in conversation, took the opportunity to launch headlong into all the summer gossip. Dean Thomas had a new zeal for life and was dating girls left and right with merciless abandon. Padma Patil, Parvati's twin sister, was among the many names who had dated him for less than a week. Neville and Luna were rumored to be an item, which they knew wasn't true, but Neville still blushed furiously when she mentioned it. Susan Bones and Seamus Finnigan were a confirmed item, on the other hand. And, Draco Malfoy was among the Slytherins returning to Hogwarts, which Parvati could confirm since she saw his immaculate blonde head and sallow, sunken eyes on the platform for herself. Her eyes flickered over to Hermione at this, as if she'd realized too late that this could be a difficult subject for Hermione. After all, it had only been months since Hermione was tortured in Malfoy's home right in front of him.

Parvati cleared her throat and continued, trying to ignore the awkward silence that had suddenly sucked the breath out of the cabin. "Ginny, are you and Harry together again, then?"

Ginny nodded quickly and grinned.

"And Hermione, did you and Ron ever..." She left the question unfinished.

"Erm..." Hermione stuttered.

"They're just great friends," Ginny jumped in quickly. "Plus, I can't have my best friend getting too cozy with my idiot lump of a brother!" Ginny grinned wickedly this time. They all laughed, even Hermione, and continued to chat about the happy points of their summer all the way to the Hogwarts gates.

As great as it felt to be genuinely talking with friends again, inwardly Hermione's stomach was twisting itself in knots. She was headed back to school without Harry and Ron, her two best friends apart from Ginny. She and Ron had barely spoken over the summer while he grieved, but there had definitely been something between them before that. _Would it come back?_ She didn't even know how to think about that. And, she had an unexpected letter from Viktor, of all people.

On the very bright side, Hermione would soon be returned to the welcoming shelves upon shelves of books in the Hogwarts library, which filled her with excitement. Yes, she was right after all. Some things _definitely_ hadn't changed.

* * *

When times are dark and families divide,  
Each witch and wizard must decide  
To forgive the hurts, the fears, the wrongs  
That bred all discord, weak or strong.

A hat I be, but listen well.  
I'll sort you best as I can tell,  
But in doing so, make sure that none  
Forget you comprise a quarter of one.

Now cast aside your doubts and recall  
Four steadfast friends above them all,  
Who in their prime and tolerance  
Did divide you up in deference.

They prized the bravery Godric showed  
As much as the friendship Helga bestowed.  
Salazar's cunning they thought as divine  
As Rowena's unparalleled strength of mind.

For knew they each from deep within,  
The perfect student would have place in  
All four of their unique school sects,  
And not just one above the rest.

So look around and heed my words  
As snakes, lions, badgers, and birds  
Represent us all in unity.  
Let the Sorting begin! First one, I'll see!

The Sorting Hat's song ended as unexpectedly as it began, and Professor Flitwick ushered each student up to the stool in the center of the raised dais. The sorting ceremony flew by, and the feast that followed was even more decadent than Hermione had remembered. Professor McGonagall took up the previous headmaster Albus Dumbledore's tradition of saving lengthier speeches and announcements until after the students' bellies were all stuffed full. Now that the feast was over, she stepped up to the podium and surveyed the four house tables. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were almost as full as ever. Hufflepuff looked a bit more sparse than usual, and Hermione idly wondered if it were because of the amount of muggleborns commonly sorted into that house. The Slytherin table was noticeably sparse. McGonagall cleared her throat and began.

"Welcome and welcome back, one and all, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! We have had a dark and trying year, and all families of all Hogwarts Houses were affected. But, the light of the future shines on as the darker times are now eclipsed. As the Sorting Hat so appropriately said, we must all stand together as we rebuild. The efforts and help of many of your families have repaired and rejuvenated our beloved school. In honor of this, allow me to share with you the family names of those who have contributed to its reconstruction."

McGonagall conjured up a long parchment with her wand and began to read.

"Abberley, Alexander, Bones, Boot, Cooper, Cornfoot, Diggory..." she continued for several minutes. Hermione recognized almost every name that was read. The entire Great Hall gasped and murmured when McGonagall called out, "Malfoy," and moments later cheered sonorously when she announced, "Potter." Neither her nor Ginny's names were read, as neither family were able to donate, though for very different reasons. At the end of the list, McGonagall led the hall in a lengthy round of applause. Hermione's eyes glanced to the Slytherin table where Blaise Zabini clapped Malfoy on the back. Malfoy applauded with the rest of the room and seemed to not at all acknowledge his fellow Slytherin.

When the noise died down, the Headmistress continued. "Start of term notices—the forest on the grounds and the lowest level dungeons are as always off limits to all students, including Prefects. In addition, please note that many staircases and pathways have been diverted during the reconstruction, so all students should pay extra attention as you acquaint yourselves with the castle.

"Finally, this year we have decided to wait to announce the Head Boy and Head Girl until all returning students could be properly assessed. After much deliberation and discussion, we have decided to make an important change to these appointments. One student from each house has been selected as the Head Student, instead of the traditional Head Boy and Head Girl for the overall school. These students are ones whose academic prowess and dedication to the school have surpassed all others in their sixth years. All will share in the traditional Head duties and will act as student representatives for their Houses. We begin with Gryffindor!" McGonagall paused slightly, then said, "Congratulations to Hermione Granger, who will be awarded the position of Head Girl! Though she was unable to attend last year, Miss Granger has returned to complete her seventh year."

McGonagall continued to announce the many ways in which Hermione had succeeded in her studies and devoted herself to the school, but this was drowned out by a roar of cheers and applause from all directions. Hermione smiled through her shock—the Gryffindors around her were all beaming in her direction, and she seemed to be receiving hugs from everyone she knew. The Prefect badge pinned to her robes suddenly surged with heat, and Hermione looked down as it transformed into a new badge with "HEAD GIRL" blazoned across the front in gold lettering.

McGonagall let the students celebrate for a minute longer, then whistled sharply. All eyes snapped back in her direction in anticipation. "Congratulations to Ernest Macmillan, who will be awarded the position of Head Boy for Hufflepuff!" A deafening roar issued from the Hufflepuff table despite their slightly lessened numbers, and many others joined in. "Mr. Macmillan has displayed excellent academic prowess as well as significant quidditch skills these past years at Hogwarts."

After another indulgent pause followed by a second sharp whistle, McGonagall cleared her throat and continued. "From Ravenclaw, we congratulate Padma Patil as Head Girl!" The same roar issued, and McGonagall made similar comments regarding Padma's intelligence, kind heart, and volunteer work with wounded magical animals.

Then, McGonagall let the silence lapse as she surveyed the hall again. "Congratulations also go to Draco Malfoy, who will be representing Slytherin as Head Boy, having likewise returned to complete his seventh year!" The staff table lead the cheer for Malfoy, and only a few students—mostly Slytherin—joined in clapping. The rest of the hall looked to each other in shock, confusion, or a mixture of both, and more than one student whispered to their neighbors to ensure they'd heard the Headmistress correctly. It was no secret that Malfoy was a Death Eater, or perhaps _ex-_ Death Eater if anyone would accept it. Those who didn't know this for sure had simply assumed it to be true after what became of his father, Lucius Malfoy.

"Mister Malfoy has earned the title of Prefect for all eligible years, received top marks on all of his O.W.L.'s, and spent his entire summer lending his strength and magic to the Hogwarts reconstruction crews on a voluntary basis. Without his contributions, we would not be here today!"

The room had gone quiet to hear the justification for this choice, unlike the raucous noise that drowned out the similar though unnecessary descriptions for Hermione, Ernie, and Padma. Hermione looked over again to Malfoy, who was staring at McGonagall. His face had grown even paler than usual, if that were possible, and his mouth slacked open, positively aghast. Hermione got the distinct impression that he'd like nothing more at that moment than to hide under the tables, and indeed he seemed to slink down slightly lower in his seat. Hermione's eyes flew to McGonagall, then to the staff table. Every single teacher, Rubeus Hagrid included, had taken up a genuine second round of applause for Malfoy. There was only one plausible explanation to Hermione—the world had clearly gone mad.

* * *

When McGonagall finally spoke again, Hermione felt like she'd been punched in the stomach.

"All four Head Students, please come up to speak with me about your accommodations. Prefects, please lead your houses to your respective dormitories. Thank you, and good night to all!"

The students around Hermione clambered over their benches and rushed out of the hall, no doubt eager to get back to their common rooms to gush about this ridiculous announcement. She could imagine the dozens of speculations that would already be flying before the Fat Lady had even swung open to admit the first students through the portrait hole. Hermione felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Ginny, carefully prodding her out of her seat and up to the front of the Great Hall.

Hermione approached in a daze that was brought into sharp focus as she heard Draco Malfoy's hate-filled voice.

"—made a mistake! Is this some sort of sick joke? Or a punishment? Believe me, I've been punished enough."

"Mister Malfoy," McGonagall said evenly, "I did not come by this decision alone, and I entirely stand by it. You and your fellow students may not yet recognize your merits, but we who represent the school do. Ah, Miss Granger." McGonagall turned in her direction, then acknowledged Padma Patil and Ernie Macmillan as they approached a moment later. "Now that you are all here, Professor Flitwick will lead you to your private dormitories. I will meet with you each separately and then together to discuss your additional duties as Heads of the school. Congratulations again to you four." She smiled at them warmly, then whisked out of the Great Hall to join the rest of the staff in keeping the overly-excited students in line.

Professor Flitwick shook each of their hands vigorously.

"Very well done indeed! Now, right this way!" He beamed up at them, then darted out of the Great Hall at a surprising pace for his size. Malfoy and Hermione followed, as far apart from each other as reasonably possible, in absolute silence, with Padma and Ernie walking two paces behind.


	7. Chapter 3b: Meeting

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _May 2003—_

"You are a pitiful failure, just like your father!" A cold, high voice screamed at Draco, then it turned deathly calm. "Cowardice deserves punishment, Draco. So does disloyalty. _Crucio!_ " The last word came out as a spitting hiss, and Draco's body exploded with agony. He felt as if every pore in his skin were ripped apart and oozing blood. His intestines turned in upon themselves and his lungs collapsed. He clawed at his throat, desperate for a cool drink of air, but the spasms convulsing through him prevented any semblance of self-control. The pain continued for what seemed like ages until he could bare it no more, and his merciful mind finally slipped out of consciousness.

Draco awoke covered in sweat, stripped to the waist, chest heaving, and his sheets pooled at the foot of his bed. Another nightmare. His head throbbed, and the silver scars crisscrossing down his chest and abdomen tingled. The red, splotchy scar on his left forearm stung angrily. It had been five years, yet still he was plagued with reliving his darkest times in tormented sleep. At least he had not dreamt about _her_ again. The thought of her voice, her screams, made his chest tighten. His mouth was suddenly dry. He reached for the glass on his bedside table, but it was empty.

Draco groaned and rolled over, stuffing his fists under his pillow. For years, he'd been sleeping with his wand beneath his pillow, as close to him as possible, rather than on his bedside table by the glass and the little green bird that was currently asleep. He pointed his wand at the glass and murmured, " _Aguamenti_ ," in a sleep-husky voice. The glass filled with crystal-clear water, and he took a long gulp.

"Time," he commanded the little bird. It woke up, ruffled its feathers, and chirped out, "Forty-seven past four in the morning." Draco groaned again. The bird closed its eyes and tucked its head under a wing. Four hours of sleep would have to suffice. The only way he'd get any more, he knew, would be resorting to another Dreamless Sleep potion. Something about taking that potion made him feel hollow and dependent, neither of which Draco Malfoy enjoyed. He had no idea how his mother tolerated it. Lying in bed awake would just make him even more frustrated and tired, so Draco dragged himself out of bed. He donned a velvety black robe and made his way into his study.

This was the only room in the expansive flat with an Old World feel to it. There were four studded-leather armchairs in the center of the room around a sturdy, circular coffee table that had intricate carvings of dragons down each leg. Three of the walls were lined with maps in thick wooden frames, most of which appeared to be from various eras in history, though all were hand drawn and shone with magic. The fourth wall was entirely bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and filled with books of every color and size. In one corner stood an elegant writing desk. Draco settled himself down in the high-backed chair at the desk and withdrew a fresh roll of parchment, ink, and an elegant quill from a drawer. He began to write.

 _Mother,_

 _Hope you are well and that Burgundy is treating you to your pleasure as ever. I may be traveling again soon, but I'll write if I must move our next dinner. I'll try not to—you know how I hate to reschedule. This deal is questionable. I'll put no more in this letter on it, but I'm not yet satisfied with the terms to take it on. Should I leave, I'll send you the details of my whereabouts per the usual method._

 _I have a suggestion for the banisters. I'll leave the sample out, if you'd like to send Dotty to collect it at your leisure. It's too hefty for Artemis to carry. It will be nice when this is all over, and you are closer again. What plans do you have in the village next week?_

 _Draco x_

The letter was short, but it contained everything he needed to say. There was no point in troubling her with his night terrors, and he knew she suffered the same or worse anyway. They all did—those at the apex of the war. Draco sheared off the letter with his wand and set it aside. He twiddled his quill in his fingers for a few moments, watching the dim light bounce off the sapphires inlaid on the grip. Then, he scrawled another short note in his neat, angular script.

 _Looney,_  
 _Your father is more insane than you, and I will not accept his terms. Meet me today by 10am at Espresso Patronum to discuss further. Before you ask, I have not forgotten._  
 _D. Malfoy_

Draco folded and sealed both letters, then hooted softly towards the opposite corner of the room. A gorgeous eagle owl with pristine feathers and bright orange eyes glared at him from her perch. A gigantic gilded cage with several perches, food trays, an owl-length mirror, and even a roosting box took up most of that corner of the room. The front of the cage had a large opening in the center that clearly defined it as an optional home rather than a restrictive space. It was big enough for half a dozen owls, though only one rested there, and her eyes continued to bore into Draco.

"Come, come," he cooed at the magnificent owl. "I need two trips from you, then you can sleep. These are my only letters for today, and they're both very important." His tone was warm and affectionate, which seemed to appease her. She flew to his knee and patiently waited for Draco to tie a letter to each of her legs. He gave her instructions as he worked.

"This one is for mum. It's the longer trip, so deliver it second. You can stay with her, then bring her reply when she's ready, and you've rested. This one," he indicated her left leg, "is for Luna Lovegood. Don't wait at her dreadful place any longer than you have to, and don't accept a reply. Don't mingle with any crazy birds the Lovegoods might have either. You might catch a disease or worse, knowing them." The owl narrowed her eyes, as if put off by the last drawling instruction. Draco scoffed. "Artemis, I would never send you for this delivery if I didn't absolutely have to. It's important, and you're the only one I trust to take letters to mum—you know that." He scratched her head, and she hooted appreciatively, satisfied that she was being kept from her sleep for good reason. She took off through a high window Draco had installed and charmed specially for her, which recognized her and opened only upon her approach. Draco watched her fly off into the slowly brightening sky until her spec disappeared on the horizon.

* * *

It was a few more hours before Draco flooed to work to inform Gruffjaw of his plans to meet with "that batty Lovegood girl." He then headed to the small but modern coffee shop that had recently opened in Diagon Alley. Despite the tacky name, the inside of Espresso Patronum was clean, calming, and—unlike most wizard coffee houses—not overly crowded with people or decorations. Draco ordered a flat white, seated himself in a comfortable armchair, and withdrew a book from the breast pocket of his coat. It was approaching nine o'clock, and he suspected he wouldn't have too long to wait, if he knew Looney Lovegood at all.

Draco was gratified after thirty minutes, when a swish of vibrant color and dirty blonde hair plopped down beside him. Closing his book, Draco's steel grey eyes met the inescapable oddity of Luna Lovegood for the second time in two days.

"Hello, Draco," she said airily. "This is a boring place, isn't it?" Draco stared at her without reply. "I received your letter. So nice of you to write to me," she continued.

"Get a coffee, Looney, and let's begin," Draco instructed. Luna floated away and attempted to order dirigible plum tea, which was refused with significant confusion by the barista. She then asked for anything with radishes, which earned her more confused glances, this time from the other customers in line. She settled on a floral tea and bounced back to Draco's side. Rather than launching headline into a tale about one of her usual oddities, she sat there in silence and waited for Draco to speak.

"Let's get right to it," he said after her tea arrived. "This trip will have dangers you're not prepared for. There are parts of Europe that are contested by worse even than harpies, who would gladly slice your face off for looking at them. I can't be responsible for that, and I won't be responsible for you. I work alone, or with a team of my selection. Period."

"I understand, Draco," Luna replied calmly. This caught Draco by surprise.

"You do?" he asked her through raised eyebrows.

"Of course! But you'll still need to take me with you, and dad will meet us part way there. You have no hope of finding them otherwise."

"I'm resourceful," he drawled. "I think I'll be fine."

"No, you won't be," Luna said conversationally. "In fact, I've been thinking about bringing a friend from the Department of International Magical Cooperation just in case."

"Absolutely not. Any friend of yours is probably nutters, and I can't have someone I don't know on my team. The idea of bringing _you_ is bad enough, and I'm only even entertaining this because of what I owe you," he growled.

"Oh, you know her," Luna replied. Draco stared at her waiting for her to expound, but she clearly didn't get the hint.

"Well?" He asked at last. Luna checked her watch just as a mass of bouncing brunette curls invaded Draco's view.

"Sorry I'm late!" Hermione Granger sang as she hugged Luna tightly. "What'd I miss?" she asked as she plopped into the chair across from Draco. Her eyes widened as they met his, and her mouth fell open. " _You?_ " she asked aghast, then seemed to realize her slip. Draco saw her throat constrict as she swallowed hard and collected herself. She stood back up, muttered something about coffee, and wandered off to the back of the queue forming at the counter.

"Oh lovely, she remembers you!" Luna beamed. Draco realized his mouth had been hanging open, and closed it. He straightened his tie, ran his fingers through his hair, and shifted in his seat. "I think she's quite happy to see you. This is going to be a wonderful trip!"

Draco eyed Hermione as she stood in queue determinedly scrutinizing the menu, which he imagined was to avoid looking his way. He, on the other hand, couldn't tear his eyes away from her. He saw the darkness behind her gaze and how her jaw was hard set. Looney had clearly not told her a key piece of information about their meeting today—his presence—and she was not receiving the shock well. Her friend was right about one thing, though. Draco was certain that she _did_ remember him. Not just him, but everything they had gone through together. He couldn't yet tell if that was a good or a bad sign.

One of the baristas came by and collected his empty cup. "You want another, love?" Draco had barely registered the question and stared at her for a moment as his mind caught up.

"Er, yeah, why not," he said flatly and fished a galleon out of his pocket for her. She bustled away with her bin to collect other empty cups and biscuit plates left by departed customers.

After Hermione had ordered, fiddled with the menu, looked around at the artwork hanging on the walls, and smelled the sample coffee bean collections three times, she resigned herself to the chair across from Luna and Draco. Luna meanwhile had been humming a very odd tune that sounded to Draco as if it had no meter or structure at all, but simply wandered all over the place looking for a melody to settle on. Draco and Hermione sat in silence, allowing her to finish.

"You look lovely today, Hermione," Luna said at last. "I've always liked blue on you." Hermione's cheeks pinked slightly. Luna was right, Hermione looked mature and stunning in her dark blue robes. They were fitted enough to show off her form, though still loose enough to be practical. Her hair bounced around her shoulders in voluminous curls, drastically tamed from the bushy mess of her youth, which gave her an aura of carefree elegance.

The silence between them continued to lapse. Hermione sat with her spine rigid while Luna seemed wholeheartedly unperturbed. Draco lounged back in his chair trying to appear casual.

"Right," he drawled, "I suppose you know why we're here?" The question was for Hermione, and she nodded once. "I was just telling Looney that I'm not going to risk being responsible for anyone on this trip, so you better get on with detailing a map."

"I agree," Hermione said, to Draco's shock. "There's no need to put you and your father in danger, Luna. Gringotts is perfectly capable of bringing back whatever you've acquired on their own."

"Whatever they've acquired?" Draco laughed. "Did she not tell you _what_ they're after?" Hermione glared at him, but shook her head. "It's a bloody harpy colony!"

"Luna!" Hermione gasped, and Draco, though he should've been ecstatic to have an ally, felt his chest fall.

"Hermione, how will we protect the harpies and their young if we don't go ourselves? Is it safe to trust their lives and wellbeing to other wizards?" Luna asked this with a tone of pure innocence, but Draco saw right through it, and knew he was defeated. Hermione's face looked suddenly crestfallen. There was very little, Draco knew, that got Hermione more fired up than the thought of mistreated creatures. S.P.E.W. may not have taken off, but that didn't mean Hermione abandoned its ideals towards all magical races.

"Well..." she began, but the waitress returned at that moment and sat down two identical looking drinks on the coffee table between them.

"There you are," the witch said. "Two flat whites with no sugar."

"I only ordered one," Hermione and Draco said to her in perfect unison. The waitress raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Oh, thank you," Luna replied. Hermione stared very intently at her coffee, not daring to look at anything or anyone else in the room, but made no move to pick it up. Draco, this time, did the same.


	8. Chapter 4a: Coping

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _September 1998—_

The Head Boy and Head Girl had always been awarded private rooms at Hogwarts, rather than the shared dormitories occupied by the rest of the students. In the distant past, one top student per House had been selected, and they were awarded a private room adjacent to the other dormitories in their House. As Hogwarts grew over the years, head students were replaced by prefects, and a Head Girl and Boy were selected for the school overall. With this change, the two were given their own shared common room in addition to a private room and toilet.

Hermione knew all of this by heart from the many times she had read _Hogwarts: A History_ , but even this didn't prepare her for the common room she was led to. Clearly, the room had to be changed with one Head Student per House being selected again. As they approached, an intricately carved door with stained glass windows depicting the animal mascots from each of the four Houses materialized.

"The password to the room is set jointly by all Heads, and needs to be changed at least monthly," Flitwick explained. He looked up at the dancing eagle, the roaring lion, the coiled snake, and the snarling badger in the stained glass and said evenly, "Cherry cherubs." The door immediately swung open.

Inside, the common room contained more chairs, couches, and pillows than four people could ever hope to use. The decorations bore the crests and mascots of all four houses woven together in beautiful, glittering patters. Hermione gasped aloud and, had she thought to turn to her companions, would have seen wonder on all their faces. Even Malfoy, heir to the substantial fortune of one of the richest wizard families in the world and no stranger to luxury, widen his eyes in appreciation. She marveled somewhere in the back of her mind that Percy Weasley, Ron and Ginny's older brother who had also been Head Boy, never once bragged about this place, though perhaps it was out of guilt at the impoverished conditions he knew his family dealt with back home.

"The layout, as you can see, is simple enough. Each of you have a staircase that leads to an individual bedroom and bath. The rooms are mostly identical reflections of each other, though you'll find they've been tailored to best suit each of you." He pointed to the four corners of the room that housed identical staircases, though the lights illuminating the stairs shone in the colors of their respective houses.

Professor Flitwick shook each of their hands in a congratulatory fashion again and made his farewells. The four students were left staring at each other. Being from different houses, though all from the same year, they were all acquainted yet not good friends. Hermione knew Padma's sister Parvati fairly well, but she rarely had the opportunity to talk to Padma in the past. Both, however, had been members of Dumbledore's Army, the group she and Harry lead in their fifth year and Neville resurrected last year. As relieved as Hermione was to share a common room with these two, the silent pause between them with Malfoy present stretched just long enough to make Hermione fidget uncomfortably.

"Wow, this is something!" Ernie broke the silence first, shaking some of his sandy brown hair out of his eyes. Ernie was almost a foot taller than Hermione remembered, and a good deal leaner, too. The change was remarkably as if someone had grabbed his head and feet and pulled him like taffy. His normally proud heir had diminished somewhat, and the genuine smile he wore now suited him rather nicely. Three other heads nodded their consent.

"I can't believe we have our own rooms," Padma added brightly. Ernie and Hermione grinned.

"I'm dying to check mine, aren't you?" Hermione joined in. They all looked to Malfoy, who turned a slight shade paler.

"Definitely," said Ernie at last, since Malfoy remained silent.

"Catch you in the morning, then?" asked Padma. Again, the other three nodded, and Hermione, Padma, and Ernie called back "Goodnight!" as they made their way up their staircases. Malfoy ascended his in silence, his features blank and controlled.

Hermione's bedroom was up a short, spiral staircase connected to the back-right corner of the common room, and Malfoy's was up a matching staircase to the back left. Ernie departed up a staircase in the front left corner of the room, and Padma up the front right. Once upstairs, Hermione pushed through her door, and Crookshanks greeted her with a loud purr, though he didn't move from the spot where he'd curled up on her large four poster bed. Her room was decorated with the familiar Gryffindor red and gold, and aside from the bed contained an armoire, desk, and small bookshelf. Her trunk was settled neatly at the foot of her bed. She found that her bathroom was spacious, though not excessively so, and contained a claw foot tub, toilet, sink, and mirrors. There was a small fireplace along the adjoining wall that delightfully warmed both her room and the bathroom. The bathroom's marble floors were also warm under her feet, and Hermione wondered if the heat was being somehow redirected from the fireplace or if the tiles were enchanted.

On the other side of her bathroom wall, Malfoy stood assessing his own bathroom and bedroom, mirror image to Hermione's save for the decorations being green and silver rather than red and gold. Unlike Hermione, there was no longer any wonder in his cold, grey eyes.

* * *

The first day of class had Hermione out of bed faster than you could say _quidditch_. She dressed hastily and rushed to the Great Hall for breakfast. Professor McGonagall was already there handing out schedules. Hermione had continued with all the same N.E.W.T.s as her sixth year: Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions. She carefully folded the parchment and tucked it into her robes. The tip of her finger met a sharp point in her pocket, and she pulled back so quickly that she upset her cup, sending pumpkin juice flying across the table.

" _What?_ " she muttered and sucked the tip of her finger—a muggle habit she picked up as a young girl from her mother. _Of course!_ Hermione chastised herself. After the Head Student announcements, she'd completely forgotten about her letter from Viktor Krum. She glanced around and, seeing as it was still too early for most students to be up for breakfast, decided to brake the seal and read.

 _Dearest Hermione,_

 _I cannot believe this luck in meeting your strange, blonde friend in my country. It has been such time since my last letter, which I bitter regret. War has touched us here, though I know it was much worse for you. After seeing you at Fleur's wedding, I must admit to acting fool._

 _Please think to write to me again, as before you did. Tell me of past year? Have you and your family stayed safe for all of it? This odd girl tells me you are well and alive. I will be short as she waits for me to write, but I will tell you all if you wish me._

 _Yours Faithfully,_  
 _Viktor Krum_

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Viktor's English was always better in writing than spoken and, though it still wasn't perfect, she had never imagined he'd improve this much in the past year. She looked at the tight, angular words without doubt. This was definitely Viktor's handwriting. She read the short letter again.

"You're up early," came a bright voice to her right. Ginny dropped into the seat next to Hermione and began to fill a plate with eggs and toast. She flicked her wand down the table, and a jar of blackberry jam came soaring her way. Hermione jumped as it flew towards her head, but Ginny deftly caught it without spilling a single drop.

"I'm in with two of my old bunk mates and two from your year, Lavender and Parvati. I suppose it's all _our_ year now though, innit?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Hermione replied. "Not being in with all of you is definitely weird though."

"Just think, we could've been dorm-mates! It'd be like last summer before the wedding." Ginny cast a warm smile Hermione's way. The two had shared a room for weeks on end leading up to Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding.

"That would've been so nice. I have to say, I'm a bit worried I'll be lonely. I don't know what the rules are for guests yet, but it's top on my list to ask McGonagall at the first Head meeting."

"You'll be fine," Ginny dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "You've got Padma and Ernie in there at least to cancel out the snake." She scrunched up her face as if she'd just swallowed a very rotten bit of mold. "What's it like anyway?"

"Gorgeous," Hermione replied a little too quickly and blushed. "It's going to be so much easier to study, too, without always being asked for help."

"You mean without Harry and Ron?" Both girls laughed. "How those two passed anything, even with your help, astounds me."

"Isn't Harry supposed to be your boyfriend?" Hermione chided.

"Lucky I'm not with him for his book smarts," Ginny grinned, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What do you start with today?" Hermione changed the subject. The Great Hall was filling up with students now that the morning progressed.

"Dunno, McGonagall hasn't come round to me yet, but I think first term has a lot of remedial doubles for us. Last year's lessons were..." Ginny shuddered, "a joke, I s'pose." Hermione suppressed a shudder herself, and both girls lapsed into a comfortable silence. Ginny continued to eat, and Hermione focused her thoughts on anything but last year. Her hand unconsciously gripped her left forearm, and Ginny politely avoided noticing. They were all learning how to recover from last year, but they were together as the Sorting Hat said.


	9. Chapter 4b: Coping

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _May 2003—_

Blaise Zabini stared at Draco with his mouth agape. "This is madness," he said after an uncomfortable pause. Draco leveled his friend with a blank stare.

"Was it really her? Hermione Granger?" He asked Draco with a slight quaver in his voice.

"Of course it's her, Zabini. It's not like I'd mistake something like this. Are you in or not?" Blaise twirled the drink in his hand. The red liquid sloshed happily around the sides of his tumbler, and the sound of tinkling ice assaulted the silence that was pervading the room.

"I need to think."

"Think?" Draco drawled. "You never had to think about a chance at adventure before."

"This is different."

"How so?"

Blaise paused. "Tell me the plan again," he said at last.

"Merlin's balls, we'll be here all night."

The two men were sitting on opposite black, leather couches in the great room of Draco's flat. A modern, glass coffee table and their very contrasting opinions on adventure separated them. Beneath their feet was a rug patterned with different tints of green leaves in all shapes and sizes. The leaves were bewitched to look like they were being rustled by a never-ending wind. Draco brought a map of the Mediterranean Sea to the forefront of papers that currently littered the coffee table.

"All we know about harpies is myth interspersed with suspected or purported fact. Any known wizard to get close enough to a colony was snatched and eaten. We know that they likely hailed from one of the many Greek Isles, but these seven in particular are the most likely sources." Draco paused to circle a cluster of islands on the map with his wand, and they shone gold. "We know that their skeletal system is heavy with adamantium instead of calcium, which makes their eggs so coveted—"

"And their dead," Blaise interrupted.

"And their dead," Malfoy conceded, "both of which make them more formidable."

"That and the fact that we have no realistic idea of their magical properties. Draco, we're talking about creatures related to veela and sirens. Seeing as those two have unusual control over men, and we happen to be—you guessed it—men, this trip is sounding less like a good time and more like a suicide mission."

"Look, we aren't going into anything blind, so get that out of your head. We have to take the Lovegood lunatic as a guide, but she also happens to be dead useful and a long shot brighter for bringing in the likes of Granger. Once we know exactly where the colony is, we can decide to put them to use or ditch them." Blaise nodded, so Draco continued. "Next we proceed as we always have. Market research, investigation, airtight planning, and flawless execution. We don't do anything that we haven't fully vetted, and we never relinquish control to the other two." Blaise eyed him skeptically. "It's our terms or no terms," he said more firmly than he felt.

"If you can promise me that with the likes of Lovegood and Granger around, you will always be in absolute control, I'll do it." Blaise's eyes were hard and black. "Draco, I know about your past. Remember that before you commit this to me."

Draco leveled him with a steely glare. "I promise, and a Malfoy always—"

"Keeps his word. Yeah, I know."

* * *

The next morning Draco began to pack, which was harder than usual. He normally went into a journey with a solid plan that he perfected along the way to adapt to whatever unexpected events might pop up. This time around there were too many variables, right down to the route they'd be taking. He, Lovegood, and Granger had mapped out several reasonable paths to Greece and the Mediterranean, but Lovegood was too stubborn and secretive to commit to any one. Even Granger had seemed frustrated with her batty friend.

Draco stood surveying the tools, scrolls, and provisions splayed across his bed. He'd made his usual piles of definitely needed, most likely needed, possibly needed, and unlikely needed but useful. As he stared at the items and idly scratched his chin, he flicked his wand causing them to rearrange between the four piles. He'd been at this for over an hour, and still didn't feel confident. The plan was to leave—the four adventurers in tow—on the day after next, and by that time Draco _had_ to feel confident. The more he could turn this trip into one of his usual expeditions as a Curse Breaker, the better. He had a complete success rate for a reason, and not following his usual methods compromised their odds in his mind.

Draco heard a soft pop behind him. His flat was heavily warded, so he knew exactly what to expect. He turned around slowly and smiled kindly at the tiny creature before him. Dotty was a house elf with a long, skinny nose, enormous ears, and eyes so big and glittery that they reminded Draco of oversized snitches. Dotty wore an impeccable silvery grey hat and dress with a neatly pressed black apron, which the Malfoys had made a part of their house elf uniforms a few years ago. The elves were beholden to the family by their own free will, now, and all served Narcissa and Draco, when he was around, dotingly. Every time he saw them, though, he was reminded of the contrast to his childhood, and an involuntary shiver coursed through his spine at the thought.

"Master Draco!" Dotty squeaked.

"Hello, Dotty. Mother has sent you?"

"Oh, yes!" Dotty's voice was so high-pitched that he could barely understand her when she was this excited. The house elf was hopping from foot to foot and concealing something behind her back. When she apparently decided that she'd left enough time for proper suspense, she continued. "Mistress has chosen a banister from the samples Master Draco has given her. And, Mistress has sent along carving samples from three Italian artists for Draco. Dotty has them here!"

Dotty waved her hand, and several wood carvings each the size of Draco's hand flew into the air and danced around her head. Draco grinned and suppressed a chuckle. Then an idea struck him.

"Dotty, could you help me with something?"

"Yes, Master Draco! Dotty will help with anything Master Draco wishes."

"How far have you traveled for my mother? Have you been to Italy?"

"Oh, yes. Dotty has traveled to Italy, Germany, and Hungary for Mistress Malfoy. Does Master Draco need Dotty to retrieve samples from afar?"

"No, not that." Dotty's eyes had been glittering with wonder, and immediately fell at his refusal. Draco felt an irrational pang of guilt. "Could you tell me about how you apparate so far safely?"

Dotty eyed Draco for a moment before responding. "Elf magic is very different from wizard magic, Master Draco, sir. The will of a house elf to do her master's bidding is stronger than the determination of any wizard. This is why we can apparate where wizards cannot, Master Draco. Please," she shook slightly at her own words, "don't be upset with Dotty. Dotty is not meaning to say she is better than a wizard."

"Don't worry, Dotty, I'm not upset," Draco replied, trying to sound kindly. He kept his tone very light as he continued. "I was just curious about our different types of magic. For example, I can apparate far by wizard standards, but not when I have someone doing side-along apparition with me. Is it the same for elves?"

"Ohh, yes sir," Dotty squealed.

"Tell me, if I needed your help somewhere in Europe, how far could you apparate without splinching yourself?"

Dotty's long nose scrunched up as she considered the question. "Dotty thinks she could go very far for Master Draco." Draco smiled, a backup plan already forming in his mind. His confidence in this mission just grew a tiny bit more.

"Thank you, Dotty. Now let's have a look at what you brought." He led Dotty down the hall and into his kitchen, which had the best natural lighting to examine the carvings. As he walked, there was a noticeable spring in his step.


	10. Chapter 5a: Acting

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _September 1998—_

The first class of Hermione's seventh year was Charms. Professor Flitwick stood at the front of his classroom and surveyed his seventh-year students. There were only a small handful of them. Not all students from Hermione's year had returned to complete or repeat their final year, and she had overheard in the corridors that Ginny's class would not be merged with hers until second term to allow them time to catch up on what had been missed in their sixth year.

Flitwick cleared his throat and beamed at the class. "This year will be perhaps the most unexpectedly strenuous of your years at Hogwarts. True, your number of classes seems fewer than ever, but your amount of individual work and study will be greater than ever before as well. In this class, we will learn a wide variety of highly advanced charms, study the history and theory behind each, practice them in realistic settings, and finally learn how to invent simple to intermediate charms for yourself."

The door to the classroom opened abruptly, all heads turned to the latecomer in unison. Hermione spotted the top of a white-blonde head sidling in.

"Come, come, sit down!" Flitwick called without reprimand and pointed to one of the many open desks.

Draco Malfoy nodded swiftly and took the nearest open seat, directly behind Hermione. Hermione turned back around and was surprised to find herself clutching her left arm again. She sighed and willed herself to relax as she let out a deep breath. She turned her attention back to Flitwick, quill poised over her parchment for taking notes.

"Nonverbal movement charms for many witches and wizards are innate actions. These charms may be to perform repetitive actions, such as stirring cauldrons, or more complex actions, such as knitting scarves. The success and exact actions of the charms can also vary depending upon the caster. Who can give me an example?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air, and Flitwick, perhaps anticipating the action, called on her immediately.

"There are many theories regarding varying skill and complexity of charms between casters," Hermione stated. "In your examples, the most likely is due to the skill of the individual at completing the task manually as well as the intent. For example, when first casting knitting charms I could only create square patches. As I learned more knitting, I could get the fabric to curve into socks and hats and create designs in the pattern. A witch very skilled at knitting would be able to charm the needles and yarn to create almost anything."

"Excellent, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor!"

Flitwick waved his wand and the words "Aptitude" and "Intent" appeared on the blackboard behind him.

"Now, rather than working with knitting needles, we'll begin today with paper," he continued. He waved his wand again, and small stacks of square parchment flew to the desks of each of the students in the class. "Please practice folding these papers into any shape that pleases you using nonverbal charms. To begin, it might help you to practice folding your shape by hand, then practice stating your charm out loud, before attempting the nonverbal. Extra points will go to the most creative and complex creations for the day."

Flitwick then demonstrated a series of wand movements and charmed a sheet into a simple paper airplane that he sent soaring around the room. He then charmed a second sheet into a complex propeller airplane that he sent soaring in the opposite direction, its tiny paper propeller whirring rapidly.

"Begin!" he called out, and the room was immediately filled with the sounds of crumpling paper and shuffling chairs. By the end of the lesson, Hermione had charmed her paper into a stunning long stemmed rose that hovered directly in front of her desk. Neville had managed to charm his paper into a fairly convincing frog. Ernie had created a double-masted sailboat. Other shapes around the room included a small rabbit with twitching ears, a pair of scissors that, being made of paper itself, was failing to cut apart the waterlily cast by the next student, and finally an undulating Chinese dragon that was circling Malfoy's desk. Flitwick was so delighted that he gave five points to every student. Homework was thirty inches on the conflicting theories that attempted to account for same-charm variations, research and independent mastery of coloring charms, and reading for the next lesson's topic. The next lesson would also begin with a practical exam on folding _and_ coloring papers.

Hermione checked her schedule and groaned. Charms would meet again in two-days' time, but she did have a double free period after lunch to start working on the essay and research.

* * *

Double Herbology left Hermione with even more research and preparation to do, and she hadn't even finished all of her classes for the day. She still had Ancient Runes left after her free period. A worried knot was already forming in her stomach as she made her way to the Great Hall for lunch. Ginny was there eating her sandwich with alarming speed.

Hermione sat across from her and gaped. "You know, I see it now, the resemblance between you and Ron."

Ginny scowled.

"That bad?" Hermione asked.

"I've got four essays already, more reading than I think I've ever done in my life, and no free periods until Wednesday. Plus, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain now that Angelina and Harry have both left!" Ginny grinned as she shared this last bit of news, and Hermione nearly jumped out of her seat.

"Oh, Ginny, that's wonderful!"

Ginny continued to talk about the prospects of the team, which students remained, which might be viable replacements, and her worry over ever finding a Seeker to live up to Harry's legacy. Hermione tried her very best to listen and keep up with the conversation, but sighed in relief when Seamus Finnigan came over and heartily joined in with his opinions. After a few minutes, Hermione waved her farewells and slipped off to the library with her heavy bag of books slung over her back.

Old books, fresh parchment, and a lingering undertone of book lice repellant assailed Hermione as she entered her beloved library.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," a sharp voice echoed over to her as she entered.

"Oh! Hello Madame Pince," Hermione said quietly and smiled at the older witch.

"You'll find everything's just as you left it," Madame Prince replied with a blatant tone of pride. "Very little damage was done to the library, though we did have to relocate part of the Restricted Section. I'll be here through the afternoon if you need any help."

"I'm sure I'll be fine—thank you!"

Hermione spent several minutes roaming up and down the aisles selecting books on nonverbal spells, motion charms, water-dwelling plants, and plant-based healing remedies to add to the books she already had in her bag. She made her way to her usual table and dropped her books with a loud _thud_. A few students around her jumped in their seats, including the boy seated at the end of her table. She hadn't seen that it was occupied over her stack of books.

 _Malfoy—of course_. Hermione drew in a sharp breath and instinctively clutched her left arm under her robes. Malfoy's eyes narrowed at her quick movement, and his expression darkened.

"Don't worry, Granger," he muttered, "I was just leaving." Without another word he rose, collected his bag, parchments, and quill, and walked briskly through the library doors and out of sight. Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

 _Get a grip_ , she chided herself. She was going to be bumping into Malfoy a lot with a shared common room and at least two shared classes so far. _He's not Bellatrix, and it's not his fault._

Logically, she knew that it was true, but every time she'd seen him in the past few days, her mind went reeling back to that dreadful night at his family's Manor. Her arm seared with the same fiery pain, and she felt trapped, pressed in from all directions, and helpless, which—if she had to admit it—was pleasant compared to what she experienced at night. In her dreams, her body wracked with echoes of the Cruciatus Curse until she was overcome with pain, fear, and eventual blackness. But, being a member of an evil family didn't make Malfoy the same brand of evil. After all, look at Sirius and Regulus Black, she reminded herself. Sirius had fought for the Order since the first war, and though Regulus had admittedly joined the Death Eaters, he ended up stealing a Horcrux with the intent of destroying it. It had cost him his life before the deed was done, but he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice if it would contribute to Voldemort's downfall. Malfoy hadn't done a single thing wrong in the past two days, Hermione knew. She also knew that he and his family had suffered as much as any at the hands of the Dark Lord. If she didn't keep her compassion in this of all things, she was worried her humanity would slowly slip away until she was left with a hollow shell of her former self. No, this was her personal battle to overcome, not Malfoy's.

 _Enough_ , Hermione thought. She was wasting time, and moaning to herself over her demons would not help her finish her Charms or Herbology work. Plus, she needed to keep her head clear while studying. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and opened the first book in her stack.

Hermione's free period, final class, and dinner rushed by. In a blink, she was back in the library reading from her same stack of books, though it was now considerably shorter as she worked her way through. The sky grew cloudy and darkened as the hours stretched on into the evening. Rain trickled lightly against the library windows, and Madame Pince began making her rounds, replacing the last of the unfiled books and dimming the lights. Hermione collected her things to return her own books to their respective shelves. She rolled her eyes as she saw a stray book across from her with the title _Colors, Colors, Colors! Everything You Want to Know about Casting Color Charms on Any Fabric_. Malfoy must have left it behind for someone else to put away. _Typical_. She gathered it with the rest of her stack, then made her way back to the Head common room.

Hermione stood in front of a seemingly innocuous span of wall in the corridor and patiently waited for the stained-glass door to appear.

"Cherry cherub," she whispered, and the door swung open. Ernie and Padma were both in the common room. Ernie was waving his wand emphatically at several pieces of paper, and a large vein in his forehead was protruding angrily at his mental strain. Padma was writing on a lengthy piece of parchment, and she looked up from her plush armchair as Hermione walked in.

"There she is!" Padma cooed. Her eyes flicked to the armchair opposite her. Hermione smiled and made her way over to join Padma.

"Working on Herbology, then?" Hermione asked as she set her bag down and collapsed into the soft armchair.

"Yeah, I've got at least thirty inches done here. Fifteen left, but this bit should only take another hour or two. I saved the whole section on transfigurative water plants for the end, and that's easily ten inches."

"Have you added in a texture comparison?" Hermione asked. "That might get you the extra five inches."

"Yes, I put that at the beginning, but now that I think of it, I haven't added too much on geography, just growth conditions. That could wrap it up!"

"Yeah, that's perfect," Hermione agreed. If she were here with Ron and Harry, they'd be giving her blank looks or making stupid joke-guesses. It was a refreshing change to be met with competent and intelligent discussion at the end of a long day. Hermione felt her mind stretching comfortably as they chatted a little about the whether the next lesson would involve mixing salves or just recognizing and cultivating plants with healing properties.

After a few minutes, a little blue sailboat floated right between their heads, and Ernie pulled an up armchair beside the two girls.

"Finally got it," he announced. "You should've seen the last ones. Nothing but a muddy greyish brown!"

"One of the books I read in the library said that darker colors are harder to cast," Hermione said and was thrilled when Ernie leaned in interested rather than laughing at her for being in the library.

"That right? Maybe I should've started off with pink or yellow then. I felt like an imbecile for two hours straight."

"At least you didn't start with dark purple!" Hermione giggled. "According to Saddius Sagestone, the most challenging colors to cast are the darkest shades of green and purple and, of course, true black."

"True black?" Padma asked.

"Oh yeah," Ernie responded. "It's a completely colorless black. A lot of black dyes and casts are actually really dark blues, purples, or sometimes browns. They're just so dark that our eyes register the color as black."

"Ahhh, got it!" said Padma. "So the color property is completely devoid of hue—"

"And doesn't refract any light whatsoever," Hermione finished for her. "You know, Muggles have invented some really fascinating machinery that can detect the precise light wavelengths to determine the true properties of any color."

Ernie screwed up his brow. "Really? You know, sometimes I regret that I dropped Muggle Studies. They have some inventions that if I didn't know better, I would swear a wizard made 'em and just passed 'em off as Muggle creations."

"Ernie Macmillan raving about Muggle ingenuity. What is this world coming to!" Padma laughed. "Muggle Studies was fine, I guess, but you have to admit that it's barely a step above Ancient Runes on the boring scale!"

"I _like_ Ancient Runes!" Ernie and Hermione said in unison.

"You talk about _boring_ , but aren't you the one taking History of Magic with Binns still?" Ernie said as he arched an eyebrow in Padma's direction. Hermione chortled at Padma's deep blush.

"C'mon, he's not that bad!" Padma argued.

"He made the Goblin Wars sound like a long disagreement. It was a bloody massacre, and I mean that quite literally!"

Padma glowered at Ernie, who flashed her a toothy grin back.

"Fine!" she gave in. "I really like history, but Binns is pretty insufferable. Neither of you have History of Magic as a N.E.W.T., do you?"

Hermione and Ernie shook their heads.

"I do," a cold voice answered from the corner of the room. All three heads whipped in Malfoy's direction. Hermione scrunched up her nose and caught herself just before gripping her forearm. _When did he come down from his room? How long has he been standing there?_ she wondered.

"He's always been a bore," Malfoy drawled.

"Yeah, just like I said," Ernie responded levelly. "See, Padma?"

Padma nodded, but didn't say anything. She turned back to her Herbology essay.

"Nice boat, Ernie," Malfoy eyed the little blue sailboat that was still floating across the common room at a lazy pace. His tone was so flat that Hermione couldn't tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.

"Er, thanks," Ernie responded.

Malfoy cleared his throat, then made his way back up to his dormitory. When they heard his door open and shut, Ernie turned back to their small group and moaned.

"I don't know how we're going to get along with that snake all year," he spat.

"I'm going to try ignoring him. 'Don't poke the sleeping dragon' and all," Padma offered.

Both turned to Hermione, and she just shook her head. They fell silent.

"I think I'll head up. See you two in Defense tomorrow?" Hermione raised the pitch in her voice making the second statement a question.

"Yeah, definitely." Ernie got up as well.

"Sure, see you then. I'll just finish this off and head up myself," Padma said.

Hermione smiled and waved as she retreated up her corner's staircase. In her room, Crookshanks was curled up on her pillow and purring softly in his sleep. He swatted at her hands when she tousled his fluffy, ginger fur. Hermione sat down beside him on the bed and pulled her paper rose from Flitwick's class out of her book bag. She waved her wand and the rose turned to a deep red. She smiled and waved her wand again, and a dark green spread evenly through the stem and leaves. Hermione had mastered color spells last year while on the run with Harry and Ron. She thought it might come in handy if they needed to quickly disguise their clothing or hair color. She waved her wand a final time, and the rose floated to her nightstand and levitated there, spinning ever so slightly in place.

Hermione got ready for bed and tucked herself in. It was a cool night, but the fire in her room was glowing comfortably. Just as she was waving her wand to turn off the light, she noticed something tiny flying circles around the rose on her nightstand. From where she was laying, it looked like an oversized black and yellow bee attempting to pollinate her paper flower. She laughed, realizing what it was, and _accio'd_ the paper bee to her waiting hand. She figured Ernie was showing off, which really didn't surprise her. The bee rested in her palm for a moment, then unfolded itself. Inside, in a neat and angular script was written:

 _Why do you clutch at your arm every time you see me?_

There was no signature, but there could be no doubt who the note was from. Why was he asking, and why did he even care? Hermione's brows folded together. The last thing Draco Malfoy was concerned about in the world was a muggleborn like her. She crept out of bed, wand in hand, and opened her door slowly, careful not to make any sound. The short hallway leading down to her staircase was empty, and the common room below was silent. Hermione wasn't sure what she expected. It's not like Malfoy was likely to loiter after sending her the note. She returned to her room and hopped into bed, but her mind was awake and whirling. It was going to be hours before she could fall asleep.


	11. Chapter 5b: Acting

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _May 2003—_

"Zabini, your bags!" Draco snapped across the room. He had owled Blaise, Luna, and Hermione with instructions to meet him at Gringotts Bank on the following Wednesday at nine o'clock sharp to finalize supplies. He'd reserved an anteroom specifically for this purpose, as he always did before setting out on an assignment. This room was similar to the sitting room where he'd met with Xenophilius Lovegood, except it was larger and interspersed with wide tables perfect for laying out mass quantities of supplies.

Blaise shrugged and waved his wand. His bags flew across the room and landed neatly on the table in front of Draco with a loud thud that made Draco's eyes twitch. He was usually a bit on edge before starting an expedition, but last night he had barely slept. That by itself would normally be a minor inconvenience, since he spent more nights awake than asleep anyway, but this time it brought on a pounding headache. Every tiny noise grated against his ears and turned his mood increasingly dour.

"Is there an inspection queue?" Luna asked, skipping into the room and levitating her hodgepodge assortment of bags in front of her. Draco ignored her.

"No, Draco's just a control freak," Blaise muttered to her with a smirk. Draco ignored this too. "He likes to check everyone's supplies to make sure we all have the right things packed."

"You mean making sure we've brought enough clothes and food?" Luna asked. Draco rolled his eyes and poked through Blaise's things with his wand.

"Well, more like your, er—less personal supplies. If we've got one spare pop-up tent, for example, that might be handy. If we've got three spare, that's a waste of space. Better to swap them for different supplies, you see?"

"Oh, yes! I haven't brought a tent though. Should I have?"

Draco heard Blaise begin to reply in a patient tone he thought better fitted a child and tuned him out. He sorted Blaise's things into two piles, keep and discard, all the while making a running tally in his head.

"Right, Zabini, get rid of this bit," he commanded when the last item was sorted. "No need for snow gear where we're headed. Get that pair of self-shrinking kayaks you bought in Tasmania last year instead. And double your potion stock."

"Yessir," Blaise mock saluted. He took his bags and set off, not-so-subtly winking at Luna on his way out. Without prompting, Luna alighted her four bags onto the same table before Draco that Blaise's bags had just vacated. Draco noticed long lures were tied to each bag at one end, and at the other end were looped around Luna's wrist. The effect made her look like she was preparing to walk four legless, lumpy dogs. He sighed.

"This is all so exciting," Luna crooned. "Do you think we'll leave soon?" Draco was staring at Luna's assortment of bags with such disgust that he didn't even hear her.

"What in Salazar's name is all of this shit?" he asked.

"Oh, they're my bags. Aren't they wonderful? Daddy and I found each one in a different country. This one is from—"

"Why are there four?" Draco interrupted.

"Four is the perfect number for bags, I think. I've got clothes in this one," she pointed to the first lumpy bag that looked not unlike a knitted quilt that had been tied into a large pouch. Then she indicated each of her remaining bags in turn. "This one has food, utensils, and teas. This one has outdoor gear for swimming, climbing, and spelunking. And this one has miscellaneous tools, such as Daddy's recreation of Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem, glasses for seeing wrackspurts, spare phials for _gernumbli_ saliva or—"

"I get it," Draco cut her off and massaged his temples. "Reorganize these into two bags at most. One personal and one for _all_ other supplies. We can't waste time sorting through bags in a pinch. Call for me when you're done." Draco strode across the room and yanked open the door. A mass of bushy curls toppled all over his chest as Hermione came falling through the other side.

"Merlin's beard, Malfoy, what is _wrong_ with you." Hermione huffed loudly and pushed off of him.

"It's nine-fifteen, Granger," he snarled.

"Congratulations, you can read a clock. Why am I here, anyway?"

"Supplies. Where are your bags? I need to check them before we leave." Draco whirled on the spot and moved behind a table opposite Luna's. Hermione eyed him intently. He braced himself for a scathing reply, but held his ground.

"No," she said at last.

"What do you mean, 'No?'"

"I won't let you rummage through my things," Hermione said flatly.

"It wasn't a question, Granger," Draco spat. "Where in the bloody hell are your bags?" Hermione shrugged, causing Draco to roll his eyes, then he realized something: she was indicating the small backpack strapped to her back, not shrugging at him.

Luna seemed to notice the same thing, because she started cooing again, "Ooh, are we going without gear and looking for Curse Breaker hideouts?" Draco tried to ignore her, but she kept talking. "Daddy told me all about those. They're hidden camps that only Curse Breakers can find, and they're filled with food and water and soft beds. Some even have tents with proper kitchens and bathrooms. There's a secret society of Curse Breakers that maintains them around the globe. Are you a member, Draco? How wonderful—should I leave my things behind, too?"

"Don't be a bloody idiot," Draco drawled. He turned back to Hermione, who was rolling her eyes at Luna as well. When he caught her eye, he couldn't suppress his smirk even as she scowled at him, but he saw her cheeks flushed lightly nonetheless.

"If you think," she leveled him with a withering glare as she spoke, "that I don't know how to survive on my own, think back to how I spent what should've been my seventh year at Hogwarts. If that isn't enough proof for you, I can't help you."

Draco swallowed hard. He knew exactly how she and the remainder of the Golden Trio had spent that year, hunting horcruxes on their own, while on the run from the entire wizarding world.

"Fine," he said sharply, and Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Just help your bumbling friend reduce her clutter. Zabini!" he shouted as he left the room, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and that perfectly-honed wit.

Hermione began helping Luna pack essentials and discard useless oddities. She wrestled from Luna an entire sack of gurdyroots, several bottles of clear liquid labeled " _gernumbli_ saliva" (which Hermione was pretty sure actually contained diluted doxicide), and several yards of beaded necklace made from large, shriveled beads that reminded her of peach pits. She moved on to examining Luna's next pile, one eye still on the ridiculous diadem recreation, when the doors burst open. Draco and Blaise bolted in followed by several jets of red light.

"Secure the door!" Draco shouted at Blaise, who already had his wand pointed at the door. Draco forced it shut. They could hear shouts outside: some in Garbledygook and some in a Slavic language. Draco knew there was no time to waste. He grabbed his bag and began chanting the countercurse that would lift the anti-apparition wards. Blaise hurriedly packed Luna's last belongings into her bags and forced them crisscrossed over her shoulders. He looked to Draco, waiting for instruction.

BANG!

An explosion sounded on the other side of the door. There was a loud scream, then more shouting.

BANG!

Someone was hurling hexes directly at the door. It shuddered ominously.

BANG! BANG! _Crrrrrraaaaa...AACK!_

The door blasted off its hinges and exploded into shards. Giant splinters peppered Draco's skin, drawing blood down the side of his forearms and face. He stood still and continued his chanting, knowing that even one second delay would cost them all dearly. The air in the room shuddered, and for a moment everything stood still, as if time itself suspended. This was when Draco acted.

"Take her," he barked at Blaise, indicating Luna. "Rendezvous one. Thirty minutes. Go!" Blaise pummeled into Luna, gripping her tightly around the waste, and was gone. The air shuddered again, then four figures in blood-red robes filed in, wands raised. Draco sent red sparks flying at them.

" _Protego!_ " He heard Hermione scream as he ducked a curse. Flashes of green, red, and purple rebounded off Hermione's shield charm. Draco crossed the room in three long strides and threw himself onto Hermione. He turned on the spot, and they were sucked into blackness. Pressure engulfed Draco from every direction, and he felt Hermione slip in his arms. He squeezed her body tightly to his chest. Then, their feet hit solid ground, and Draco was pushed full force onto his back.

"What in the bloody hell was that?!" Hermione shrieked at him. The world came into focus, and he found himself lying spread eagle, back aching, but very much alive. Hermione, aside from violently shaking with rage or terror (it was hard to tell which), appeared to be fine. He could see only two scratches on her arm from the splintered door. A sigh escaped his lips. Her shield charm was a damn good one and probably saved their lives, not that he wanted to admit it.

"Are you mute?" Hermione shouted at him, and he realized she'd been red-faced and rapid-firing questions at him. "I said, what in Godric's good name just happened?"

"I'd bloody well like to know myself," Draco retorted as he picked himself up. This seemed to mollify her, and she turned away (though still in a huff). He inspected the scratches on his arm: bleeding a fair amount but not serious. He healed each and saw Hermione doing the same her own couple of scratches from the corner of his eye. He tried to touch his face, which was stinging angrily, but he involuntarily winced at his own touch, and his fingers came away bloody.

"Just let me," Hermione said, not bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice. She stepped in front of him and peered up intently at his cheek. Draco stood still and focused on keeping his breaths even, but his eyes locked on her face. Her eyebrows knitted together in that familiar pattern as she concentrated. She bit her lower lip, and he knew she'd be holding her breath. He couldn't help getting sucked in by her intensity. She reached up and cradled his jaw in her palm, slowly turning his face to the side with her thumb and holding it in place. _Steady_ , he reminded himself. _In and out, breathe in… breathe out…_ He felt the side of his face heat up unnaturally as Hermione's magic went to work.

"There," she muttered after a few minutes. "I think that's all of them." She released his jaw but trailed her fingers down his cheek, feeling for scars. He swallowed, closing his eyes to her touch, which was gone too soon, leaving his cheek cold and exposed. His eyes snapped open and instantly met hers. They were boring into him, searching for something. What was that intensity? What was she questioning in him? She opened her mouth, and he could feel the words on the tip of her tongue.

"Your daft friend had better have a damn good explanation," Draco said, not entirely sure why he'd cut her off. He turned away from her, letting his back block her from seeing the shame on his face. This was not the time for reminiscing. He shook his head slightly and stalked off down the path to his left, leaving Hermione to scurry after him. They had reappeared in an expanse of private gardens with several pebbled paths snaking through. Thankfully, Hermione trailed behind Draco without any complaint, so he marched on in silence. He was in no mood for questions; his mind was reeling. The four, crimson-robed men had targeted them specifically, having no apparent interest in the treasures of Gringotts. How had they gotten in past the Goblin security measures? How did they know exactly when and where to find their small group? How could they possibly be encountering trouble before their journey had even begun?

Draco couldn't see there being innocent answers to any of his questions. He continued on, winding through the garden trails automatically, and knowing only one thing for certain. Either one or both of the Lovegoods were liars.


	12. Chapter 6a: Failing

_September 1998—_

The rain trickled down throughout the night, and the pitter patter against the window lulled Hermione into a deep sleep.

She was in the Forest of Dean setting up their tent. _Where were those boys?_ So irresponsible, always wandering off. It wasn't safe, no one was safe. She could hear the screams echoing in her mind. Someone was screaming. It was getting closer and closer. No, this wasn't the Forest of Dean. It was a dark forest surrounding a towering, black building. She tried to turn towards the screams, to help the owner of that shrill voice, but she was bound tightly. Ropes were cutting against her arms and back, constricting her. Something slammed into her, and the ropes were gone, but she was pinned to the floor. Still the screaming continued, filling her ears. It was _her_ screaming. Her throat was scratched raw from the strain. Then, her body erupted in fire, pain stabbing into every inch of her skin. She forced her eyes open, still screaming, and was met with wild black hair and hate-filled eyes.

"Tell the truth! _Tell the truth!_ " a crazed voice shrieked at her.

She flung herself violently out of Bellatrix's grasp and toppled out of her bed, clattering in a heap on the floor and sending Crookshanks flying. Hermione opened her eyes, breathing more heavily than the bellows of Harry's Hungarian Horntail. She squinted, eyes darting to every nook and crevice in her spacious room. She was well and truly alone. She was safe. Bellatrixwasdead.

The first rays of dawn were just peeking in through her window. There was no chance that Hermione would be able to fall asleep again. She rubbed her eyes, picked herself up, and looked around groggily this time, now that the aftershock from her nightmare was fading. She settled herself down at her desk, drew out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill, and began to write:

 _I've been dreaming again. The details change each time, but the main plot always the same. We are captured, I feel trapped, and then I feel the pain. It comes fresh, like someone's cursing me right that moment for the first time. You're not supposed to be able to feel in dreams, but this isn't a regular dream. This is an echo of the curse that my mind is trying to process. It isn't real, even if it feels real. I know it, but I still wake up panicked, sweating, and exhausted. What good is sleep when you wake up more tired than before you went to bed?_

 _I keep thinking about writing to Harry, but I know this would make him feel guilty. Maybe I could talk to Ginny? No, she shouldn't have to deal with this either. And Ron... I couldn't force him to relive it again with me. I could hear him screaming my name from wherever they had taken him. I just can't do that to him. Plus, what would Ron even do or say to help? Nothing. There's nothing anyone can do._

 _HJG_

Hermione paused, and her eyes rested on Malfoy's note from last night.

 _Why do you clutch at your arm every time you see me?_

She stared at it hard for a few minutes, knowing she should burn it and forget it ever existed, but it was too early in the morning for rational thought. Using her wand, she carefully cut off a narrow strip of her parchment. She dipped her quill into the inkwell and paused with the tip poised to write. She relaxed her grip. _What can I even say?_

Words jumbled around in her mind until slowly, deliberately, she wrote:

 _My scars haven't faded yet._

It wasn't much, but it was the most truth she'd admitted to anyone. Hermione knew the sentence could be read to mean only her physical scars, but her worst scars ran much deeper than skin. Hermione closed her eyes and gripped her wand tightly, conjuring an image into her mind's eye. She cast the charm, and the strip of paper folded itself into a miniature garden snake. She waved her wand again, and it sprouted red stripes.

The paper serpent eyed her and flicked its tongue experimentally. It slithered to the edge of the table and bobbed its head left and right. Hermione chuckled at the tiny snake, scooped it up, and crossed her bedroom. She waved her wand a final time, and the little snake flew down her staircase and across the common room. It fluttered up Malfoy's green-lit staircase and came to a rest just outside his door as Hermione's levitation spell expired. It wriggled its delicate body under the crack and wound itself up his nightstand, where it patiently waited for its slumbering recipient to wake.

* * *

Hermione's second day was as busy as her first. She enjoyed her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which she shared with Padma, Ernie, and several other members from the old DA club. She couldn't help but grin at the thought of how many students had succeeded in their O.W.L. solely because of Harry's tutelage in their fifth year. After Double Arithmancy, she had a much-needed free period, even though she spent it working feverishly in the library. Her final class of the day was Potions, the first class that all four Head Students had together.

Professor Slughorn had remained out of retirement to fill the position of Potions master. He grinned widely at his N.E.W.T. students.

"Well, well, well, here we are again! Welcome back to your N.E.W.T. level Potions course. All of you are talented potion brewers at this point in your young lives, and you've had exposure to many dangerous and powerful potions alike. This year, we'll start off brewing a devilishly tricky potion that proves invaluable to very few in the wizarding world. Can any of you tell me the purpose of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

Hermione's hand flew up, but she wasn't the only one with a raised hand this time.

"Miss Granger, do share your knowledge with us!" Slughorn called on her with a wink.

"Wolfsbane is a potion useful only to werewolves. It allows them to retain their human mental capacity when they transform during a full moon."

"Excellent, indeed! Five points for Gryffindor, though I dare say this was not new information for several of you."

Ernie, who had taken the seat next to Hermione, scoffed and rolled his eyes. Hermione narrowed hers at Ernie in return. He winked, leaned back in his chair with his chin tilted up importantly, and turned back to Slughorn at the front of the class. Hermione couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. Even if Ernie was pompous, she had a feeling she was going to enjoy being paired with someone competent for this lesson.

"On the board," Slughorn continued, "you'll find a list of all ingredients needed for the potion. You'll also find detailed preparation and brewing instructions in chapter eight of your books. Today, we will be completing steps one through seventeen. The potion will need to sit and develop for two to five days before we proceed. Then, the final brewing steps will be synched with the lunar cycle, which conveniently lines up with our next double session. Please begin!"

The room was immediately filled with shuffling bags and scratching quills as everyone hastened to copy down the ingredients list and race to the store cupboard.

"I'll grab the ingredients. Do you want to set up the cauldrons?" Ernie asked. He was hastily scrawling the list on a scrap of parchment when his quill tip snapped clean off. Ink splattered all over his hands, the parchment, and the surrounding table top.

"Ugh!" Ernie groaned. "You don't happen to have a spare quill, do you?" Hermione pulled a fresh quill out of her bag and handed it over. Ernie's eyes lit up.

"You're a life saver, Hermione. I'll get you a real nice quill next time I'm in Hogsmeade, I swear."

"Don't bother, I have extras." Hermione waved her hand dismissively, making Ernie furrowed his brow.

"I insist," he said firmly and hopped up to gather their ingredients after siphoning the spilled ink off his hands and parchment. "Back in a mo'!"

"Yes, alright," Hermione replied to his back, and she opened her book to the correct page and pulled out her cauldrons. Ernie returned shortly, and the two leaned over her textbook to read the necessary steps a few times over before prepping their ingredients.

Hermione counted out the wolfsbane leaves with her gloved fingers, then surveyed Ernie's pile. She saw him surveying her short stack with her exact expression mirrored on his face.

"We're short," they both said at the same time, and Ernie's eyes lit up with a smile.

"I'll go this time." Hermione hopped up and made her way to the store cupboard. They needed five more medium-sized leaves, so one healthy sprig would probably do it.

Hermione strode into the storeroom but froze in the doorway as Malfoy's back filled her view. He was collecting ingredients for his potion. He was the only student without a partner today, so he'd probably started with setting up his cauldron while everyone else flooded the stores. Of course, he was standing directly in front of the large jar of wolfsbane Hermione needed.

 _This is ridiculous_ , she scolded herself. _You have the guts to send Malfoy notes in the middle of the night, but not to talk to him in a perfectly safe and controlled classroom environment? Don't be stupid!_

Hermione shook her head clear and walked up to Malfoy's side, shuffling slightly to be sure her steps were heard.

"Pardon, do you need this still?" she asked him in a rather high voice while pointing at the open jar of wolfsbane. _Ugh, too formal!_ she admonished herself.

Malfoy moved to the side, out of her way, and shook his head. He turned to the row of bottles and counted off the ingredients cradled in his arm with his free hand, checking to make sure he'd remembered everything. Hermione rolled up her sleeve and, standing slightly on her toes, reached down into the overly large and mostly empty jar of wolfsbane. She pulled out one healthy cutting that still had seven leaves intact.

"Thanks," she said a little bit too loudly to Malfoy, and she turned to go. Just then, Malfoy's arm shot out in her direction and grabbed her wrist. Hermione jumped and let out a tiny squeak, dropping the cutting to the floor. Malfoy's grip wasn't tight—Hermione could've easily pulled her arm away—but she was frozen in shock. He turned her wrist over, searching the inside of her arm. Her left forearm was exposed when she rolled up her sleeve to reach into the jar, and something (she had a sinking feeling she knew what) must've caught his eye. His mouth fell open, and he let her go. His eyes were filled with such horror and fear, he might have been staring down the wrong end of a blast-ended screwt instead of the naked forearm of a young woman.

Hermione swallowed hard, closed her eyes for the span of a breath, then picked up her cutting and let her sleeve unroll slightly to cover the angry, red scar. She turned and walked away, the word "MUDBLOOD" screaming in her ears so loudly that she almost didn't hear Malfoy's whisper.

" _She_ did that to you?" his voice rasped.

Hermione paused, nodded without looking at him, and continued out the storeroom door. She ignored Malfoy for the rest of the lesson, which turned out to be easy with Ernie's stream of jovial conversation, friendly quips, and hearty laughter to distract her.

* * *

The claw foot tub in Hermione's bathroom was full to the brim with delicately scented floral water and foaming lavender bubbles. The tub was filled by its magical taps in under a minute, and the water stayed magically hot for all of Hermione's long soak. She had spent some time in the library after dinner, then had spent some more time with Padma and Ernie. They had talked about their Defense homework at first, but soon had turned to talking about their friends, their Houses, and memories from previous years. It felt good to be around people and make proper friends again. She rested her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes.

The sliver moon was high in the sky by the time Hermione crawled into bed. She dared to hope that things could be falling into place for her. Her fellow Head Students were fun, friendly, and accepting. Her classes had heavy workloads, but she wasn't overwhelmed. Mealtimes with Ginny were entertaining to say the least, though she did miss seeing her friend in the evenings in the Gryffindor common room. All-in-all, Hermione was feeling a warm and tingly sensation that she hadn't known in well over a year: optimism.

After her bath, Hermione laid on her bed watching Crookshanks dart across the floor, batting around an orange paper frog, and making Hermione giggle with delight. She reached down and scooped up the frog and Crookshanks, who tumbled readily into her lap. The frog upon her touch had unfolded itself revealing another note in the same angular, tight writing. She'd nearly forgotten about the last note from Malfoy and had mistaken this one for one of Ernie's practice sheets. He'd been bewitching paper mice all night for Crookshanks to pounce, tackle, and shred. She looked down and read.

 _I thought you were cringing at me, like everyone else._

Annoyingly, Malfoy had assumed she'd know what he was talking about. Even more annoyingly, she did. Was Malfoy looking for a reply? He hadn't exactly asked her a question. A confirmation maybe? Underneath his note, she wrote, _It happened at your home. Not everything is about you. Forget it._ That ought to put a stop to these notes, she figured. She charmed the paper and sent the orange frog hopping under her door crack and back to Malfoy. She summoned a fresh sheet of parchment and decided to draft her response to Viktor's letter, which she'd been putting off for a couple of days.

 _Dear Viktor,_

 _It's been some time since I've heard from you. Glad to know that you've survived, terrible as that sounds. It's a strange and awful thing to have to wonder which of your friends are alive. I've come back to Hogwarts for my final year, and classes have just started._

 _This past year was a very long nightmare, but we won. That's all that matters. I'd like to hear more about you. How is quidditch? What else do you do now that you've finished at Durmstrang? I'd love to take up our correspondence again._

 _Yours,_  
 _Hermione Granger_

She paused, then added beneath, _P.S. I've missed you._ Hermione rolled up the parchment and sealed it. She'd bring it up to the owlry first thing tomorrow morning. Hermione turned back to her bed and was greeted by another frog, yellow this time.

 _Does it hurt still?_

Hermione wrote back _No_ , but it was a lie. It and many other things hurt all the time in her sleep, but that was none of Malfoy's business. Barely a minute passed when the yellow frog hopped back up on her bed. Malfoy had crossed out her simple _No_ and added a new line next to it.

 _You scream in your sleep, Granger._

Hermione scowled, crumpled the paper, and chucked it into the bin. She turned off her light and went to sleep with a frown still on her lips.


	13. Chapter 6b: Failing

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _May 2003—_

Draco hugged his mother tightly, and she kissed his cheek. He walked past her (leaving Hermione standing awkwardly in the doorway) to kneel beside the house elf, Dotty, who was standing at the end of the hall.

"Dotty, you remember Mr. Zabini? He used to come to stay occasionally in the summer," he whispered to her. Hermione was now shaking his mother's hand and looking very pale. He suppressed a smirk.

"Oh yes, Master Draco, Dotty remembers," the house elf squeaked. Hermione was now chewing her lip as his mother asked her a question.

"I need you to go and find him. He might not be far from here, but I'm not sure where."

"Yes, Master Draco, Dotty will search most thoroughly and will forego meals for a week if she fails," she squeaked again.

"Right," he said and stood up. "Don't spend more than a few hours. If you can't find him and the crazy blonde woman he's with, come back and we'll try together later."

"Yes, Master Draco!" Dotty grinned up at him with her wide eyes, then _CRACK!_ —she disapparated. Hermione's voice floated over to him. "...a lovely cottage. It reminds me of..."

"Dotty!" He called loudly and saw both women across the room jump. His mother wheeled around to stare at him. _CRACK!_ Dotty returned and looked up at him, worriedly this time. He smiled at his mother and knelt down to the house elf's height again.

"If you see anyone in dark red robes," he whispered in one of her bat-like ears, "come back immediately. Don't go anywhere near them. Just come and tell me right away. Do you understand?"

Dotty nodded so vigorously that she almost toppled forward over her own feet. Draco caught her and steadied her.

"Yes, Master Draco. Dotty will be very, very careful, Master Draco," she said solemnly, then disapparated again. He turned to the kitchen, immediately regretting that he had sent the elf before securing a decent meal. He hadn't eaten that morning, and his stomach was beginning to ache. Admittedly, he hadn't banked on his breakfast being thwarted by a band of unknown wizards trying to kill him. Draco was used to being hated by others, but he usually knew why. This change unsettled him.

"Draco!" Narcissa called sharply from the foyer. "You have a guest here," she chided him.

"Yes, alright," he replied and waived his wand. Three tea cups flew from the cupboard and joined a steaming teapot and a selection of tea tins on a silver tray. "This way," he said to Hermione as he doubled back and lead her and Narcissa into the sitting room, the tray levitating before him.

* * *

"We won't bother you long," Draco explained to his mother once they had all settled down into plush armchairs. "As soon as we find the rest of our party, we'll get out of your hair."

"You aren't staying?" Narcissa asked in a flat voice. Draco winced slightly as he felt her disappointment. Hermione was sitting very still in her armchair, looking like she was trying not to breathe.

"I just stopped here on the way to—" he paused and glanced at Hermione, "...to check in. I couldn't put it in a letter, but the deal I told you about went through. I'm headed to the Greek Isles with Granger, Zabini, and that Lovegood girl."

"I see." If Narcissa thought anything of Draco's traveling companions, her visage betrayed nothing. "What's your quarry, if I may ask?"

"We're in search of a harpy nest." Narcissa's eyes widened, but she remained silent. Draco continued, "I've devised a plan and prepared for all possible dangers. You don't need to worry." He added the last bit softly, then cleared his throat. He didn't want to speak too openly with Hermione there.

"I don't worry about that. Your skill is unparalleled. I worry about the unaccountable and the unforeseeable." Narcissa said this plainly, but Draco knew the fear she was stifling, not just for his benefit. Though her motives were different than Draco's, he knew that she too would rather die than appear weak in front of anyone else. Draco chanced another glance at Hermione, who was looking down at her lap and fidgeting idly with the cuff of her jacket.

"Where have you sent Dotty?" Narcissa asked. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Off to find Zabini and Lovegood. They were supposed to meet us here, but her battiness probably threw them off course." Hermione scoffed as Draco said this, but otherwise remained silent. Narcissa appraised her shrewdly.

"Well, you needn't be off so quickly, Draco. Stay and allow your party to recuperate. Miss Granger, please have some tea." She poured hot water into Hermione's cup and levitated the tray of assorted tea tins before Hermione. Hermione, looking like a trapped animal, busied herself with examining the little tins. The Malfoys continued to talk politely about casual things, to which Narcissa occasionally invited Hermione's opinion. Draco, to his credit, remained remarkably calm and gave no outward clue that they'd just been attacked the hour before.

Eventually, Narcissa arose and announced her intention to visit the city for a few hours to keep up her social calendar. "Bucksy will attend to your needs, Miss Granger," she said kindly, then narrowed her eyes as Hermione paled. For once, Draco couldn't read his mother's thoughts. He rose, kissed her cheek, and walked her to the door. When she was gone, Draco returned to his chair across from Hermione and collapsed into it, hard.

"Bucksy, bring us any breakfast food we've got and two strong coffees." As he spoke, a second house elf with a fat, squashed nose appeared at his side with loud crack.

"Yes, Master Draco, right away," Bucksy said in a low voice (by house elf standards) and bustled off. He was much older than Dotty, and his cooking skills paled next to hers, especially in his old age. The Malfoys had by habit avoided putting him to use in the kitchen, but it was bound to happen on occasion over the years. Bucksy had been with the Malfoys since Draco's infancy, he knew Bucksy's value came in his many other magical skills, such as his unparalleled protection charms. Draco was famished enough to make an exception this time.

"What are we doing?" Hermione asked after the house elf was out of earshot, breaking her silence at last. Draco leveled his gaze at her.

"I scheduled fail-safe meeting points for us each day," he explained. "If we get separated, we meet back up at the next point. This is the first one, but I originally set it for tomorrow morning." Draco leaned back in his chair and tried to project boredom into his voice. It must've been working, because Hermione's frown was increasing. "You and Looney will be memorizing them, and Zabini already has. I was originally going to have you memorize them before we left, until we were bloody attacked."

Hermione scoffed. She seemed to be doing that a lot. "You know something about that—it's obvious; your nonchalance is a ridiculous farce. What do you know?" Her voice was harsh and stinging. The way she liked to state her opinions as truth grated on his senses.

"Rather less than I'd like to," he sneered.

"Typical." Hermione huffed and leaned back in her chair. "Some things never change," she muttered, but Draco heard it easily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, irritation prickling his voice. Hermione didn't seem to care that her comment was easily heard. Maybe she'd even intended it.

"Once again, you're trying to control everything," she snapped, folding her arms.

"In case you hadn't noticed, it's my job to be in control here and keep you lot safe."

"That's rich."

"What's your problem?" Draco snarled.

"Nothing."

"No. Out with it. You've got center stage, and I don't want to deal with you huffing every five minutes until this is over." As if on cue, Hermione let out another indignant huff and shifted in her seat, letting her foot stomp the ground as she did so. Draco smirked.

"Alright," she huffed yet again, "let's get one thing straight. This isn't Luna's fault. She didn't know anything about those men in red robes, and she didn't know anything about us. Otherwise she wouldn't have—"

" _Us?_ " Draco spat. He'd been annoyed but complacent up until she said that word. "Let me tell _you_ something, Granger. Looney—"

"Luna!" she interjected. He ignored this.

"Looney knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the both of us here. And she knows something about those blood red robes—one of which belonged to a woman, by the way—but she's not telling us." Hermione raised her eyebrows but let him continue. "And there is no ' _us_ ,' as you bloody well know."

"And just who do you think—" Hermione cut off abruptly as Bucksy reentered the room carrying a tray laden with toast, eggs, stewed tomatoes, baked beans, some sort of fat sausage, and two fragrant cups of dark, aromatic coffee. Draco and Hermione both inhaled the rich aroma and reached for the cream. Draco pulled up short and waited for Hermione to mix her cream then begin filling her plate before he stirred cream into his own coffee. He hated that they took their coffee the same. They ate in silence.

When they finished, Hermione sat back, still sipping her coffee, while Draco got up and paced around the room. She spared him the trouble of breaking their silence.

"I can't do this," she admitted. "I need a clean slate to stay focused. I can't be fuming and feeling trapped for the next few weeks." She sighed. "It's too much."

Draco mirrored her sigh and said, "Alright, sure. Clean slate, or whatever." He stopped pacing and extended a hand to her. She got up, closed the few feet between them and took his hand. A jolt ran through his arm at her touch, and their eyes locked. He wondered for a second if she felt it too, but no— Of course, she didn't. Being near her again was making his insides flip cartwheels when they weren't too busy imploding, but being near him seemed to only annoy her. A quick pang stabbed at his chest, and he dropped her hand. She smiled at him, though it looked a little forced.

"Right, let me give you the tour then. Just in case we end up having to wait a while for those gits." He gestured for her to pass through, then followed her to the kitchen. When she'd seen all the rooms downstairs, he gestured her up a narrow flight of stairs to the see top-level rooms and balcony. Halfway up the stairs she came to a jerking halt; Draco nearly rammed into her. Her attention, however, was on the wall of the stairwell that his mother had covered with pictures of him through the years. He watched her rapt expression as her eyes soaked in a picture of him as a giggling baby, then moved on to one of him flying around on his broomstick at age 11, then on to a family portrait taken in his teens. Draco felt his cheeks flush.

"Your mother has so many photos of you," she breathed, her eyes still drinking in all the settings of Draco's young life.

"Yes," was all he could think to say.

"You really were a cute boy," she turned and smiled at him, then gasped. He hadn't stepped back after almost bumping into her, and suddenly their faces were mere inches apart. She was a good six inches shorter than him, but the difference was negated as she stood on the step above his. Their eyes perfectly aligned.

"I, I just mean that—" she stammered.

"Forget it," he whispered, unable to keep his eyes from drawing to her lips. He didn't know if she leaned in or he had, but suddenly their lips met. His mind immediately cleared, then flooded with pleasure. A shudder of electricity ran through his whole body, and he could barely control himself. Her lips were soft against his, but demanding. He kissed her deeply, desperately, and slid one hand up her back and into her thick curls. He felt the warmth of her hand sear his chest through his shirt as she rested it against him, and the fingers of her free hand intertwined with his own. Her lips parted and he responded instinctively, slipping his tongue into her mouth to caress hers. She sighed softly against his lips and snaked her hand from his chest up around his neck. Her body pressed against his, melting that same, delicious heat all over him, and he supported her weight effortlessly on the narrow stairs.

It might have been a minute or an hour that they stood there, lost in the passion of their kiss, until a muffled crack sounded below, followed by shuffling. Then, a dreamy voice floated up to them.

"Ooh, but this doesn't look like a house elf's house. Dotty, are you not a free elf? I knew a free elf once; he saved my life." Luna cooed. Draco and Hermione jumped apart as Dotty squeaked a muffled, indignant-sounding reply. Draco turned on the spot and marched downstairs, not trusting himself to say a single word or even look at Hermione. The faster he left, the less chance she had to speak the biting, cutting words he knew would be ready on her tongue. She had made things between them painfully clear years ago before she left. He had not meant to defy that by kissing her—or touching her at all. He unconsciously licked his lips, then cursed as he tasted her flowery chapstick still ghosting them. With balled-up fists, he descended the last few steps and kept his gaze firmly ahead. Above all else, he needed to find his control.

Had Draco turned around, he would have seen Hermione touching her lips with a look of wonder—not anger—in her eyes. Had he looked closely, the flash of hope reflecting there would have crumbled the resolve he'd been painstakingly building since he first caught sight of her several days ago, after all those years. Had he been able to feel the yearning that welled up in her breast, he might have diffused, perhaps immediately, the thick storm of memories that hung like an ominous threat between them. But he did not turn around, did not see her moment of awe or vulnerability, and did not see the light in her eyes fade as he stalked away.

* * *

Draco paced across the sitting room, this time with Blaise, Luna, and Hermione seated in armchairs before him. "Not even departed, and we're already being attacked. Explain yourself, Lovegood." His voice was not loud, but it carried the finality of steel. Luna, maddeningly, looked unaffected by his tone or any of the day's events.

"Draco, you're being rather rude," Luna responded matter-of-factly. He raised an eyebrow and saw Blaise turn, mouth agape, to stare at her.

"Doesn't change the fact that I deserve answers," he said with a forced level of calm that he didn't feel.

"You need to ask a question to get an answer. I think I like asking questions more than answering them, unless the question is a really good one," she said slowly. Her eyes were beginning to widen as she spoke, as if she had stumbled upon an interesting topic for them all to discuss.

"Okay," Draco quipped and held up one hand to stop her before she built up steam. He'd been on the receiving end of Luna's odd, musing tirades before, and he had no desire for a repeat. "I'll ask one question at a time for you. Who were those people that attacked us?"

"I don't know who they were, but they weren't very nice to us. Did you know them, Blaise?" Startled by the having a question directed his way, Blaise sat there silent but shook his head vigorously.

"Focus, Lovegood," Draco pressed on. "How did they know we were there? Who did you tell about our meeting?"

"I didn't tell anyone except for daddy." Her voice remained musing even though the others around her were serious.

"And who did he tell?"

"Ooh, no one I'm sure. Daddy wants our mission kept as a complete secret."

"If no one besides the four of us and your father knew, how could the Red Robes have known to find us there?" Draco couldn't suppress the curl of his lip, and he knew the question sounded snide.

"The Red Robes?" Luna asked, and Draco nodded. He'd started calling them that in his head for lack of a better name.

"We weren't the only ones who knew," Luna replied to his question. Draco, Blaise, and Hermione all gaped at her. "The goblins knew as well, of course. They arranged our meetings, our rooms, the fees, and the whole plan really."

"Yes," Draco drawled, "but what good would killing us do before we got their treasure? Before we even left for it?" He shook his head and continued pacing, forefinger of one hand across his lips. "We'll need to stay here for a few days," he said at last, "and remap our entire route. There's no reason for the goblins to betray us, but that doesn't mean our itinerary wasn't leaked. I'll start going through maps again this evening."

"I can help," Blaise piped up, and Draco nodded.

"You'll need to show us your old plan before we can come up with a new one. Otherwise how will we know it's different?" Hermione asked, looking at a spot just over Draco's shoulder.

"I have the old maps you can look at," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He continued to pace. None of this made sense to him. Harpy colonies didn't need protection. They were nigh impossible to find, harder to penetrate, and generally considered suicide to seek (since no one usually made it out alive). Draco wasn't yet convinced they'd be entering the nest at all, egg shells or no. If someone was trying to prevent them from finding the harpies, they'd just be doing the harpies a disservice by denying them a fresh meal. No, something else was at play here. He had no doubts that the goblins would double-cross him, but not to subvert their own mission. Why schedule and fund the mission at all then? Something was missing, Draco could feel it. There was something lurking just outside of his vision: out of focus and threatening his periphery. If only he could turn his head and glimpse it.

"Malfoy! Snap out of it!" Draco stopped in his tracks and looked up. Hermione's eyes were shooting daggers at him. " _Where_ are the old maps? Just point if you can't be bothered with words while you pace." Draco scowled and waved his wand. He supposed he deserved getting burned; he'd (unwittingly) gotten too close to her flames. A bundle of maps zoomed into his hand, and he passed them over wordlessly. Hermione snatched them and took off to the kitchen. A moment later he heard shuffling, and in his mind's eye he saw her spreading the maps out to cover the kitchen table. He knew she needed no help piecing together the plans without guidance, so he climbed the stairs towards the upstairs library, leaving Luna and Blaise alone with their matching confused expressions.


	14. Chapter 7a: Connecting

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _September 1998—_

The first week had passed. Hermione and Ginny were so overloaded with work that both girls started spending their evenings in the library. Ginny would be holding quidditch tryouts soon, and her mounting anxiety was plain on her face.

"How in the bloody hell am I supposed to do all this work, hold tryouts, and fit in enough practices to get a brand-new team in shape?" Ginny half-yelled and slammed shut her book.

"Ginny, it's okay! I'll help you!" Hermione whispered. "Tomorrow's Saturday; spend the morning mapping out your tryouts and practice times. I'll finish my remaining work, so Sunday we can go through yours. It'll be easy."

"Easy is _not_ the word I'd use," Ginny spat. Hermione stared at her pointedly, but didn't speak. "Okay, okay, you're right. It's just first week jitters. Sorry," she caved in.

Hermione smiled. "Have you gotten any letters from Harry?" she asked. She knew this was just the thing to distract Ginny, who recounted the last few letters with Harry, their plans to meet soon, and then moved on to the latest news from the other Weasleys and the status of the nearly finished reconstruction of the Burrow. This earned them both numerous glares from Madam Pince, and Hermione's face gradually turned as red as Ginny's long, fiery hair.

They made their way slowly back to the Gryffindor common room and settled in front of the fire. The armchairs were warm and familiar, though admittedly not as comfortable as the ones in the Head common room. Nonetheless, Hermione felt her muscles relax against the soft cushions as the heat from the fire flicked delicately over her skin.

"Have you heard at all from Ron?" Ginny asked casually, as if this topic of conversation were the most normal thing in the world.

"No," Hermione admitted, failing to reach the same level of ease in her voice as Ginny, "not yet. But I haven't sent him or Harry any letters myself yet either. This week has been such a blur."

"You didn't write to tell them about being Head Girl? Or about sharing quarters with Malfoy?" Ginny now looked a bit aghast.

"No..." Hermione began to squirm under her friend's gaze. "Look, to be perfectly honest, I haven't written to anyone except Viktor."

This was exactly the wrong thing to say. Ginny's eyes lit up, and she began firing off a hundred new questions in rapid succession that left Hermione feeling dizzy. _What did the letter say? Do you think he'll start writing to you often again? Does he still have feelings for you? Do you think he'll come to visit you? Would you kiss him again if he did?_

It was far later than Hermione liked when she finally made it back to her room. Neither Ernie nor Padma had waited up for her, or perhaps they weren't yet back themselves, but a little paper butterfly was floating lazily around her room when she entered. It was high out of Crookshanks' reach, so he was pointedly ignoring it. As soon as she set down her bag it alighted into her outstretched hand and unfolded.

 _Did you finish Ancient Runes homework for this week?_

She immediately scrawled back, _No. What do you want, Malfoy?_

Hermione's wand was poised, ready to send the note zooming back, but she paused. She muttered " _Incendio_ ," and the note burst into flames. She took out a clean slip and instead wrote, _Almost, I'll finish it tomorrow._ She frowned, and burned that note as well. On her third strip of parchment she wrote, _Not yet. Why?_ She bewitched it into a horned beetle and sent it flying on its way. The beetle returned quickly.

 _Just a simple question. Don't get you wand in a knot, Granger._

Hermione scowled. She neither knew nor cared why Malfoy kept sending her these stupid notes. Instead, she started writing her overdue letter to Harry.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _First week back has been a bit mental. I should've written you straight away, though you'll hardly be surprised—I'm Gryffindor Head Girl! It's a bit different this year. McGonagall selected one Head Student from each house, so there are four of us. Ernie and Padma and, you'll be shocked at this, Malfoy are the other heads. We've each got our own rooms and a shared common room. Aside from the ferret, it's actually really nice!_

 _We've got loads of work already, and Ginny is a bit overwhelmed with everything, I think. She'd probably love to see you soon, as would I. One other thing, not a big deal. Does your scar still hurt ever? I know you said it didn't, but just wanted to check. Mine does sometimes, but I'm sure that's normal from magical injuries. Ginny sends her love, though I'm sure she writes you all the time. Neville and Luna both send their hellos._

 _Write back soon!_  
 _Hermione_

 _P.S. I got a letter from Viktor. Luna ran into him on holiday, and he's doing okay. Don't tell Ron; you know how he gets._

Hermione carefully rolled and sealed the letter, then took out a fresh sheet for her letter to Ron. _Dear Ron,_ she wrote at the top, then her mind drew a complete blank. Surely there were things she wanted to tell him. At that precise moment, though, Hermione's head felt emptier than the Black Lake in the dead of winter. She threw down her quill and buried her face in her hands. Her mind was overstretched like old elastic just on the point of snapping in two. Barely registering what she was doing, she stripped off the bottom inch of her parchment and wrote, _What's with the notes, Malfoy? Haven't you got any friends?_ She charmed the strip into an arrow that zipped out her door at an alarming speed. She heard a faint "Oof!" through the walls and imagined the arrow colliding with Malfoy's face. She laughed out loud, but then clamped her hands over her mouth when she heard a muffled, " _Very_ funny," filter through the walls in an unmistakable drawl.

It took a few minutes for the arrow to come flying back. Crookshanks intercepted it and attacked it viciously as soon as it slipped under her door. It took Hermione several scratch-filled minutes to wrestle the note from the ginger beast, and she immediately wished hadn't bothered when she read the reply: _It's fun to hear you squirm._

Hermione stormed into her bathroom and got ready for bed. There would be no more responding to that stupid ferret's notes from now on, she told herself decidedly. _Enough is enough!_ When she came out, though, she saw a black rose resting on her pillow. She grabbed the rose and moved to chuck it in the fire when it bloomed in her hand rather than unfolding. Hidden in the center was a tightly folded letter. She pulled it out, her curiosity peaked, and the rose finally unfolded.

 _I'm trying, okay?_ it said in that neat, angular script.

Hermione unfolded the letter and saw an elaborate, flowing script that she didn't recognize. She immediately began to read.

 _Dearest Draco,_

 _I've sent along some sweets for you with this owl, and I hope the package arrives intact. The weather hasn't been the best for parcels, but I don't want to delay sending them while they're fresh. They're all your favorites, and I hope they cheer you up._

 _I am so proud of you, son, as I always have been. Head Boy is such an achievement, and I'm glad that Minerva McGonagall has enough wits to see all the good you've done. You spent the whole summer rebuilding that school, brick by brick, and Merlin knows we paid for at least half of it. You deserve some recognition. How are you getting on with the other Head Students? How is that Granger girl? I know you two don't get on, but you should really try. Do it for me. I can't speak of it—I won't—but you know how I feel._

 _How are your classes going? My last year at Hogwarts was the busiest for me, but it's also the year I remember the best. I wish things were different for you. We've done you no favors, but what choice did we have? I know I've said it a hundred times, but I am so sorry for everything you've been through. Things will be different now, you'll see. You come from a great line of wizards; never forget that._

 _You are so thoughtful to write and ask after me. I can only take solace in knowing that I must've done something right to have such a wonderful son. I am doing as well as I can manage, though it's lonely here. I'm thinking of retiring to the summer house for a while. This place is just so big and dark. Even the house elves make me jump lately. I've received no letters, not that I expect any, and there's no news yet about him. He loves us, Draco. Please don't lose sight of that._

 _All my love,_  
 _Mum_

Hermione stared at the letter for a long while after she finished. She felt like an intruder in a world that had turned topsy-turvy. Malfoy had a doting, albeit depressed, mother who was encouraging him to get along with others, and Malfoy was actually _trying._ He apparently spent his summer rebuilding Hogwarts, too. The last bit she could only guess was about his father, Lucius Malfoy, whom Hermione knew was currently locked in Azkaban awaiting trial. She knew his family was fractured, but reading it in this way made her feel sick. She imagined, with great effort, Malfoy writing to his mother about being elected Slytherin Head Boy, and telling her about his dorm mates.

Hermione grimaced through the bitter taste in her mouth. Malfoy got to send home the exact letter she would've sent to her parents had they not been living completely different lives half way across the world. Hermione dropped the letter and clenched her fists, crumpling the paper that had been the black rose. She collapsed into a heap on her rug and sobbed, shoulders wracking and the unfairness of life too much for her to take. Her breath wheezed, in and out in ragged bursts, and she choked with the effort of suppressing her screams. Hermione's vision blurred, and she pulled at her hair in great fistfuls until exhaustion overcame her.

Several hours later, Hermione awoke to cramped muscles, a sore throat, and very bleary eyes. She dragged herself up off the floor and into her four-post bed, then fell immediately back into a dreamless sleep.

On the other side of the wall, Draco Malfoy lay perfectly still staring at his ceiling. His brow was furrowed, his lips locked in a frown, and faint sobbing echoed in his ears, even though the tortured girl in the adjacent room had fallen silent several hours ago.

* * *

Hermione and Ginny worked side by side in the library for most of the day on Saturday. Hermione on her homework, and Ginny on her quidditch plans. After dinner in the Great Hall, they decided to call it an early night and parted ways. Hermione was still exhausted from her disrupted sleep the night before, and Ginny was eager to write yet another letter to Harry.

On the way into her room, Hermione kicked and nearly tripped over a small package that had been left at her door, the dim red lighting making it difficult for her to see properly. She picked it up and, in the full light of her room, immediately recognized the size and shape as a quill box. This was rather odd, as Hermione rarely ordered quills via post, and there was no owl accompanying the small package. Plus, this box was wrapped more like a gift than a parcel. Then it hit her. Ernie had promised to buy her a quill, and it seemed he was more than true to his word.

The wrapping was a shimmering blue paper that reflected in the light. Hermione tore through the paper to reveal a sturdy black box that reminded Hermione of an oversized ring box, except this ring would have to be as long as a wand and thick as her fist to fill the box properly. She carefully pried open the lid, and a gasp escaped her lips. With a shaking hand, she pulled out a long feather quill that had been dyed a very deep blue. Inset into the grip were a series of light blue gems. The tip was bright silver, which Hermione had the sinking feeling was genuine Goblin silver, and an ink bottle with matching deep blue ink was nestled beside it. The ink label read, "Everlasting Ink—Each draw guaranteed to last 77 times longer than standard ink!" Hermione had only dreamed of owning a quill this fine.

As the reality of the gift settled in, Hermione's mind went into overdrive. She lifted the quill experimentally in her hand and wrote a few imaginary words in the air. Her eyes flickered from her desk to the quill and back to the desk again. Could she use it and still return it? The gift was clearly too much, and she couldn't keep it, but would it be wrong to test it first? Was it rude to refuse the gift? There were too many questions to work through.

Hermione returned the quill to the box and laid it down on the desk in front of her. She drew out her usual quill and parchment and began to write.

 _Pros_  
 _The quill is gorgeous._  
 _It's a thoughtful gift._  
 _I would never spend so much money on myself._

 _Cons_  
 _It's probably very expensive._  
 _I'll feel guilty if I keep it._  
 _I'm unsure what Ernie might be expecting in return._

Hermione set down her quill and considered that last line. She'd had a great time working with Ernie in Potions. They shared a lot of laughs in the evening, too, albeit Padma was a big part of that. Ernie was also a lot better looking now that he'd grown taller and slimmed out. In fact, he was rather agreeable too, now that he lost some of his pompous, self-righteous heir. Being completely honest, Hermione wasn't at all horrified by the idea of Ernie liking her, not that she was entirely convinced he did. Her mind kept coming back to the same thought, though. _What about Ron?_

After a few more minutes of mental gymnastics and uncertainty, Hermione cried out, "What about him! He's barely looked at me for months. I can't wait around forever." And with that, she got ready for bed.


	15. Chapter 7b: Connecting

**A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.**

 _May 2003—_

Draco was seated at a large table that he'd transfigured from a couch in the upstairs library. He slowly rubbed circles in his temples, and his mother moved to stand directly behind him. She rested her hands on his shoulders in a show of silent support. They were in the habit of calling the room "the library," though it was not much like a traditional Malfoy library (lined with books and heavy furniture). This room was open, bright, and set more like a drawing room. It usually had a plush couch and a handful of armchairs to receive guests, when not transfigured for Draco's research.

The walls were covered in paintings of flowers that swayed subtly in an unseen breeze, and half-height bookshelves traced the room's perimeter. Atop the shelves were sculptures and magical instruments strategically positioned to capture the eye. It was Narcissa's favorite room and no small coincidence that he'd set up their group's supplies within. A few days with his mother's input and involvement would do them both a world of good. She had a way of thinking about a problem from the most unexpected angles, which he admired. She was also in her element when her talents were being put to use and valued. They'd only been in her house for a few hours, and he already felt more relaxed than he had in months. He could tell she felt the same.

"I need a break," Hermione groaned from across the table, breaking Draco's concentration. She set down her book atop a short pile of maps and got up.

"Bucksy will bring up some tea," Narcissa volunteered.

"No!" Hermione cried out, then choked. Her face flushed a violent red as she succumbed to a coughing fit. Clearing her throat, she said lamely, "I want to stretch my legs, anyway," and wandered off, leaving Narcissa looking confused.

"She doesn't understand house elves, Mother," Draco said flatly. "Ignore her." Moments later he accepted his tea from Bucksy and sipped it appreciatively. Bucksy might have mediocre cooking skills, but his ability to brew a cup of tea to the perfect strength and temperature was unparalleled.

Bucksy bowed low and croaked, "Miss Granger has refused Bucksy's help with her tea."

"Sounds like her," Draco scoffed, unsurprised.

"Bucksy has permitted her to use the kitchen, per Master's orders." His tone was flat, but Draco could hear the tinge of annoyance in it. He knew that feeling all too well.

"Right." He scowled into his hands as Bucksy withdrew. His mother had retired to an armchair across the room and was watching him closely, sipping from her own cup with her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Calm yourself, son," she commanded, though he heard the undertone of warmth in her melodic voice. "You can navigate through even _this_."

His eyes met hers, but his dour expression remained. He knew his face was a cold mask. He also knew she could read him through it effortlessly. After several moments, he spoke.

"There are dozens of options to choose from. I just have to decide which are least likely to be discovered. It'll be done tomorrow," then he added with a dismissive wave of his hand, "or maybe the day after."

"I wasn't talking about your travel route, Draco."

He cleared his throat. When he replied, his voice was barely a whisper. "I know."

* * *

"We've been at this for hours," Blaise groaned, throwing down a book. Draco glanced up at him, one eyebrow quirked. "I don't understand why we need fifteen possible routes to Greece."

"I still think we should go the way Daddy and I went. It was quite lovely," Luna pitched in.

"No," Draco said flatly. He was already growing bored of their questions, and he shuddered to think what the next few weeks would bring.

"Malfoy's right, Luna," Hermione said. "There's a very real chance you or your dad are being followed, and we don't know when that might have begun. Better to play it safe." Draco suppressed his scoff. Hermione agreeing with him would further the group's focus and progress, even if it irritated him. Blaise got up and began to pace about the room.

"Sit still or go speak with my mother about dinner. I can't handle you pacing like that," Draco drawled. Blaise's eyes sparkled as he broke into a grin.

"I, a measly pawn, allowed to arrange His Majesty's meals? I am not worthy of this honor," he crooned.

"Go." Draco grit his teeth. Blaise was definitely enjoying the audience the two women presented a bit too much. Sensing he had won, he twirled with an exaggerated flourish of his robes and withdrew, practically bouncing with each step.

"You'll all need to be a lot calmer if we're going to meet the harpies," Luna said, and her eyes flicked between Draco and Hermione over the top of her map.

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said. Draco saw her jaw tighten even though her tone was pleasant. "Maybe you'd like to help Blaise?"

"No, that's okay. I like it up here in this gorgeous room."

"Didn't you have questions to ask him?" Hermione said a bit _too_ patiently.

"Ooh, yes, I did," Luna practically sang and withdrew from the room, not bothering to set down her map. Draco heard her footsteps on the stairs, and he summoned the map back. He smirked when he heard her squeak, then the map flew into the room and alighted neatly onto a nearby stack.

"Be nice to her," Hermione chided.

"Please. Like you weren't ready to smack her if she kept talking," Draco said, then chuckled. "That was pretty underhanded, setting her on Zabini instead."

The corner of her mouth turned up, and she raised one eyebrow. "I've known Luna long enough now to know how to deal with her."

"Good, you can keep her in check, then. I almost turned down this assignment when I found out it meant actually working _with_ her." He was only half-sarcastic when he said it, but Hermione didn't need to know that.

"Why did you take it?" she asked with sincerity. Draco paused.

"Why not? It's just a job."

Hermione's face hardened. Apparently that wasn't the right thing to say, but there was no taking it back.

"Of course," she said, shaking her head at him with obvious mirth. "Merlin forbid you show a bit of compassion for an old friend."

Draco's head snapped up, and he appraised her directly. "I'm here, aren't I?" He dropped his maps and rose to his feet as he continued. "I've planned this trip for days, met with her bat of a father several times, and I'm sitting here redoing everything," he jabbed a finger down on the maps, "to keep you both safe from some danger that is _not_ my fault for once. Yes, I know that's a big change." He spat out that last bit, surprised by the bitterness that flooded him. Hermione looked taken aback as well, but she recovered herself quickly. She always did.

"This again?" she demanded, and she rose to her feet as well. "After all this time? Dammit, Draco, no one is blaming you!" He winced. "We weren't blaming you then, and we aren't blaming you now. Get over yourself."

He stared at her, not trusting himself to speak. She met his stare un-quaveringly.

"I need some air," he said through grit teeth.

"Good idea," she spat.

Draco stormed down the stairs with Hermione on his heels. He continued out the back door, through the covered patio, past the low gardens, benches, and gazebo. He kept on, never turning back, and fighting down the fury that was threatening to overtake him more with each step. He heard Hermione's footfalls in the soft dirt directly behind him as he turned towards the orchard. He willed the tightly-spaced trees to swallow him. As soon as he breached their barrier, he was bombarded by the sweet scent of orange blossoms. He kept moving until his feet came to a stop on their own, finally feeling his frustration drain. He turned around. Hermione's fists were balled and her jaw set, but Draco was ready.

"What is this, Malfoy?" She was almost yelling at him, and he felt is blood start to burn again.

"This is an orchard, Granger." He smirked as she scowled. "Ask the question you really want answered." He wasn't sure why he was pushing her.

"Why are we here? Why did you agree to this? What are you after?" Her voice was biting, but he just quirked up an eyebrow at her. He knew that she still hadn't come around to it yet, so he waited.

"Merlins' balls!" She shrieked then visibly steadied herself. "Are you here because of me?" she asked without any shame or timidity in her voice, which Draco couldn't help but admire.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm here for Lovegood. I would have accepted this with or without you." This seemed to somehow be the wrong thing to say again, because her face darkened.

"So that's it then?"

Draco couldn't tell if she was looking for a reply. "What's it?"

"You know what I mean!"

"Fuck, Hermione, no I don't! Tell me what you want from me," he demanded. He couldn't play this game with her. He couldn't even tell what game she was playing. He hadn't asked for her to pop back up in his life after years of silence. After how they parted. He hadn't asked her to kiss him or to make him feel anything again. No, he knew she wasn't going to make this easy for him, and he wasn't about to make it easier for her.

Draco focused on the orange blossoms behind her. He breathed in deeply, willing their sweet, floral scent to fill his lungs and allowing his eyes to close for a second. Then he met her eyes as he breathed the tension out of his chest. Maybe she could see him relax, because he saw the fury in her eyes finally began to fade. Her jaw unclenched and her shoulders slumped slightly.

"I don't know," she said at last. "I don't know how to act around you now."

For some reason, that irked him. He scowled involuntarily and said in a low voice, "Well, you've got weeks left with me, so I guess you'll need to figure it out."

"Draco…" He winced and turned away from her. "Draco, please. Please, let's not—"

"Let's not what, Hermione?" he snapped and turned back to her. He waited, staring at her, but she said nothing. Her brows drew together, and her eyes darkened. The air between them thickened, but her gaze never dropped from his. Draco continued to wait, forcing himself with every ounce of his willpower to stay still. It was her move.

Her gaze dropped to his chest, and her eyes unfocused. He could see that she'd turned inward. His will gave out, and he crossed to her in three long strides for the second time that day, scooping her into his arms. A fire ignited in his chest and overtook him, and his lips crashed down on hers. He kissed her hungrily and reveled in the intensity of her response. He felt her pulling at his shirt and raking her fingernails down his back. He squeezed her body against his, crushing away any space between them. They were lips and tongues and teeth, fire and lightning. Draco fed on Hermione's fury, and she seemed to lose herself to his passion.

The sun began to fade before the heat between them did. When they separated, Draco was shocked to discover it was dusk.

"They'll be expecting us for dinner," Hermione breathed into his mouth. He tasted her on his tongue, and rested his forehead down against hers.

"Fuck," he whispered, still breathing heavily. He couldn't bring himself to let her go. To his relief, she didn't move away from him either.

"Yeah," he heard her reply in the faintest of whispers.


	16. Chapter 8a: Confusing

_September 1998—_

The next day after breakfast, Hermione made her way to the library to make good on her promise and help Ginny catch up on her studies and homework. The sun shone brightly through the windows in the hallway, and the figures in the portraits along the wall all chattered merrily to one another, filling the castle with a friendly hum. She had told Ginny at breakfast about the extravagant quill, which she regretted when Ginny's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Did you bring it?" Ginny asked Hermione as soon as she approached their table in the library.

"Shhh!" hissed Madam Pince. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Of course, I did," whispered Hermione. She gingerly pulled out the quill box and handed it to Ginny with the care one might use to handle small child. Ginny popped the lid, and her eyes bugged out of her head.

"This must've cost a fortune!" Ginny gasped and received another harsh shush from Madam Pince.

"Do you think I should keep it then?" Hermione's voice quavered slightly as she asked aloud the question that had been on her mind all night.

"Bloody hell yes!"

"But what if he thinks it means something that it doesn't?"

"Hermione, what do you think it could mean? All it means is he's interested in you. And, has really nice taste in gifts."

"Really?" Doubt was plain on Hermione's face.

"Of course! Look, I know what this is about, and you need to stop it right now."

"Er, you do?" asked Hermione. This was rather perplexing, seeing as she didn't have any idea what they were talking about herself.

"You're feeling guilty because of Ron," Ginny said, and a hint of exasperation crept into her voice. She began making sharp gestures with her hands, punctuating each point as she rolled on. "Ron is a _git._ He's shut you _out_ when he should be letting you _in_. He's sulking all _alone_ instead of spending time with the rest of us. He hasn't written you _any_ letters. All around, he's making _no_ effort whatsoever. I _refuse_ ," she slammed her hand down on the table, "to let you get hung up on a pathetic dolt like that!"

Madam Pince hissed at them from across the room, and Hermione ducked her head as if it would help hide her.

"All right, calm down!" Hermione whispered rather loudly. "You've made your point. I'll keep the quill and will see how things go."

"And you'll tell me as soon as anything happens?"

"Yes, of course! Now can we please get started? I'd like us to be done before dinner this time."

They worked late into the afternoon, then spent the remainder of the day in the Gryffindor common room drinking butterbeer and laughing with the other Gryffindors. Hermione hurried to her room just before curfew and settled herself at her desk with her new quill. She picked up the letter to Ron and finished it as quickly as she could. The sooner they got back to being normal friends again, the better. Her letter was short, began awkwardly, ended lamely, and said very little, but it was better than nothing. She went to sleep with a smile on her lips, and she dreamt about Ernie and Ron playing tug-o-war with a giant quill while Crookshanks chased around a swarm of paper bees. Then, she was pinned to the floor again and screaming in pain. She awoke covered in cold sweat with her left forearm throbbing.

* * *

Two more weeks passed and classes continued. The first Head meeting had the four Head Students divvying up patrols amongst the prefects. McGonagall informed them that, while it was tradition that Head Boys and Head Girls keep their common room a complete secret, they could bring in guests agreed upon by all of them together, though none should receive the password. For the time being, they collectively agreed on a general no guests rule.

On Wednesday night, the four of them made their way up to the north Astronomy tower together for a late-night star gazing class. Hermione walked alongside Ernie with Padma close behind. Malfoy followed a short distance after. He'd begun occasionally sitting down in their common room, rather than always locking himself up in his room, though he rarely uttered a single word. Sometimes Hermione would catch him smirking, only to see it to slide off his face when he noticed her looking his way.

Astronomy was a rather popular subject, though Hermione privately wondered whether that was because it gave students an excuse to roam about the castle late at night. Nearly every seventh-year student had been accepted to study for their N.E.W.T.

As soon as they entered the tower, Padma waved and went to join a group of girls that included her twin sister, Parvati.

"You want to come, Hermione?" she called back, though Hermione got the impression that the question was more out of politeness.

"No, you go on," Hermione replied, and she smiled up at Ernie, who seemed perfectly content to stay there with her. Much to her chagrin, Malfoy seemed content to stay with them as well.

Professor Sinistra began the lesson promptly. "Please take out your star charts and review the current position of the nine planets, as well as the most common visible constellations for this time of year. Please work in groups of two or three. A short refresh will do nicely before we begin."

"You want to group up, Hermione?" Ernie raised his eyebrows at her.

"Sure, okay," she replied, and her stomach did a small somersault.

Malfoy remained next to them avoiding eye contact. The other Slytherin in the room seemed to be ignoring Malfoy entirely.

"Erm, you want to group up too, Malfoy?" Ernie asked, giving Hermione a helpless shrug.

"Yeah, why not," he replied coolly. "Faster we get this done, the better."

They began filling in their group star chart in turns. Malfoy had penned down the locations of all nine planets in seconds without even consulting the sky. Hermione, after taking a turn at the telescope, charted the first five constellations by memory. She and Malfoy then settled over half the map each, labeling several stars before the next round of constellations was added.

"Wow," Ernie whistled appreciatively, "I better get the next few quickly before you lot finish," and he clambered off to the nearest telescope queue. Hermione and Malfoy continued along in silence. They worked on their charts for most of the lesson, then Professor Sinistra lectured on the shrinking gap between wizard and Muggle astronomical discovery. Their assignment for the next week was to chart the major stars and planets in the Andromeda galaxy in both wizard and Muggle names, as well as write an essay on how the Muggle theory of space-time translated into the greater understandings discovered by the wizarding world.

The four Head Students were very tired indeed by the time they trudged their way back to their common room. Malfoy retreated immediately to his room without a single word, though Hermione thought she saw him nod curtly in their general direction. Padma bid them a swift goodnight through the back of her hand as she stifled a gigantic yawn. Ernie, on the other hand, dropped his bag in a chair and hung back for a moment. Hermione became very aware that they were alone together.

"Thanks for all your help tonight," he said cheerfully to Hermione, who looked back at him through heavily lidded eyes.

"No problem," she said rather more slowly and dreamily than she intended.

"The first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up soon. Do you fancy meeting up and letting me buy you a drink? Plus, I still owe you a quill. Don't think I've forgotten!"

"You... _what?_ " Hermione barked, now wide awake.

"From that day in Potions. You remember?" Ernie grinned.

"Oh!" Hermione had no idea how to react to this. She'd been trying to think up a way to thank him for the incredible quill for the past couple of weeks, and now he was acting like he'd never even given her one! She realized too much time had passed since she said anything, and Ernie's eyes were starting to grow shadows of doubt.

"Right, of course!" she said hastily. "Sounds great, yeah, I'd like that!" Her voice sounded overly cheerful and forced, but she hoped against hope that Ernie didn't notice. She dropped her eyes, then looked up suddenly when she felt him leaning in close to her. Hermione's eyes widened in panic. Too startled to jump away, she did the only logical thing and froze in place. At the last second, he shifted his body around her and scooped up his book bag that he'd tossed on the armchair just beside her.

"It's a date, then," he half-whispered, and his eyes smiled down at her.

Hermione's mind began to melt as Ernie turned and headed up the stairs. She stood very still for another moment, then rushed up to her room and picked up her quill box, examining every inch of it with a shrewd scrutiny that even McGonagall would appreciate. She found nothing. Next, she lifted the quill and performed a similar inspection. Also, nothing. Finally, she pulled out a fresh bit of parchment and the Everlasting Ink bottle and began writing phrases at random.

 _The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog._  
 _I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good._  
 _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_  
 _Squilch, squelch, squalch._  
 _Specialis Revelio! Reveal yourself!_

Hermione yelped when the blue gems adorning the quill lit up and began to flash in a quick, steady rhythm. She let go and stared aghast when the quill didn't drop. Instead, it remained poised over her paper, held by an invisible hand. Hermione didn't know what to make of this at all. She hadn't cast inadvertent magic since she was very young, but from what she remembered, this wasn't the same. There had to be some sort of charm on the quill, and she regarded it warily. Then, the gemlights stopped flashing and remained lit, and the quill began to scratch over the parchment as if the invisible hand had begun writing. It wrote a single line, then stopped in place.

 _'Took you long enough. Is this the first time you've tried to use it?'_

The gemlights reverted to flashing again. She remained staring at the quill without touching it. She shifted her gaze to the gemstones, and the single line written on her parchment for a few moments longer, then realization crashed over her not unlike one of Peeves' water balloons. Her whole body jolted in shock, and Hermione's skin prickled from an imaginary chill. It was a Twinned Quill, which allowed two people to communicate from any distance by controlling the pair of quills in turn. Better Twinned Quills had enchantments strong enough that they could mimic exact handwriting and drawings, while more common ones had a sort of default script embedded in their charms so that they wrote in the exact same size and style every time, regardless of who happened to be using its twin on the other end. This was clearly the former, and Hermione knew the tidy, angular handwriting that her quill had produced.

 _'Malfoy?'_ she wrote tentatively. She couldn't believe the gall that arrogant git had, letting her believe she'd received a kind and thoughtful gift. Hermione felt her stomach turn as she imagined the motives Malfoy might have in talking to her, none of them good. While her hand held the quill, she noticed the gemlights remained solid, just like they had when Malfoy wrote his first line. She released the quill, and the gemlights returned to blinking rapidly. The quill hovered over her parchment in anticipation.

 _'Yes?'_ came the reply.

 _'What are you on about?'_ she wrote, though she could scarcely keep her hand from shaking. It took a long while for the reply this time.

 _'What's the problem, Granger?'_

 _'The problem?!_ She began writing furiously this time, her tremor dying away, and her boldness growing with each stroke. _You started with the notes, then made me read an extremely personal letter from your mother, and you follow it up by giving me an outrageously expensive quill that turns out to be a Twinned Quill! How do you really expect me to react to this, or have you forgotten every waking minute of your past seven years here?'_

 _'So?'_

 _'So?! I can't even believe you. You know, I thought, no, never mind what I thought. You've spent the last years calling me Mudblood every chance you can get, ridiculing me and my friends, throwing curses at us, and'_

Hermione stopped. She dropped the quill, but it remained poised in midair. She was about to write that he had caused the death of Albus Dumbledore, let Death Eaters into this very school to attack the students, and stood by unmoving while she was tortured in his own home. It was all true, but something stayed her hand. Hermione was not a stupid or uncaring person, and she knew that Malfoy had been forced into a lot of those last actions, regardless of his will. His behavior as a child was certainly because of his poor choices and poorer role models, but his actions in the past two years were mostly driven by desperate survival.

 _'Did you read the letter?'_ Malfoy penned.

 _'Yes.'_

 _'Doesn't that tell you enough?'_

 _'No.'_

 _'We're doing one word answers then, Granger?'_

 _'Yes.'_

 _'Okay.'_

 _'Fine.'_

 _'Good.'_

 _'Stop.'_

 _'You.'_

Hermione stopped writing. Then, with grim determination, she wrote, ' _Leave me alone.'_

 _'Okay. Same time tomorrow?'_

 _'No.'_

With that, Hermione wrenched the quill out of the air and stuffed it back into its box. She stormed into her bathroom, feet stomping out her frustration, and began getting ready for bed. Through the wall, she heard a faint chuckle, and her faced turned an even darker shade of purple.

* * *

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling restless and annoyed. Her hair felt more frizzed than usual, and she couldn't get her tie properly straight. She stuffed her books into her bag, but she could only heft it awkwardly onto her shoulders, which were aching under the strain. She patted Crookshanks on the head, and he promptly bit her index finger. Then, she stubbed her toe on the carpet on of the third stair from the bottom and flew forward. She landed hard on her feet at the landing and righted herself, but had she been one step farther up, she'd have tumbled her way down end over end. The offending toe began to throb inside her shoe, and her heart beat frantic patterns against her ribs.

Hermione hobbled across the common room towards the door and smashed the side of her hip against the back of an armchair. She let out a very un-Hermione-like curse and doubled over. It was all too much for her this morning. She dropped her bag and collapsed cross-legged on the floor ready to burst into tears, but strained with every iota of her might not to.

At that exact moment, Malfoy came traipsing down his staircase. He saw Hermione in her rather pathetic state and leveled a curious glare at her.

"Merlin's beard, what happened to you, Granger?"

"As if you don't know!" she half screamed at him, tears welling in her eyes.

"What are you on about? I haven't done anything to you," he drawled, letting his lip curl up just slightly.

"Just leave me alone! You've done enough already!" Hermione couldn't help herself. She had no idea why she was so upset just then, but she knew it wasn't really Malfoy's fault. Maybe it was because she missed her parents and Harry and Ron. The war was over, but she'd never felt more uncertain about her life. She didn't know what she wanted to do when she graduated. She didn't know where she stood with Ron. She didn't know exactly where her parents were, if their memories could be repaired, or how they would treat her after. If there was one thing Hermione hated, it was not knowing things, and not knowing why Malfoy was bothering her was the proverbial owl that collapsed the entire roost.

At that exact moment, Ernie came into the common room. Hearing Hermione's last shout, seeing her collapsed on the floor, and Malfoy simply being present was enough to draw his own conclusions. He rounded on Malfoy, wand at the ready.

"What did you do to her, you snake?" He spat.

"Calm down," Malfoy drawled, sounding almost bored. "I haven't done anything. I found her like this."

"You would say that! _Tell the truth!_ "

Hermione clutched her arm and was transported back to the last time she heard someone shrieking that phrase. Spasms of the Cruciatus Curse overwhelmed her, and she began to scream.

"Please, please, I don't know!" she heard herself screaming. There was a bang and a flash of red light, then strong hands were lifting her.

"You're safe. I've got you," a warm voice whispered in her ear. She became deathly still, except for the hot tears that poured down her face. There was a scuffling sound, a dazzling light, then blackness.

* * *

Hermione woke surrounded by sunlight and sterile white sheets. Within moments of opening her eyes, the shrewd and tutting visage of Madam Pomfrey filled her view.

"Don't get up. Drink this." Madam Pomfrey forced a warm chocolate gulp down Hermione's throat that left an acidic aftertaste on her tongue. "Good girl. You've had a bit of a shock, but you're fine. Too much stress, but it's what's to be expected. You need plenty of rest and hearty food. As soon as you're up for it, we'll get you a nice hot breakfast. You may even be out by this afternoon, but no classes or work for the rest of the day. Your mind needs to rest."

Hermione blinked several times and nodded. "Thank you," she mouthed, since her voice seemed unwilling to respond. Madam Pomfrey scurried off to the girl in the next bed whose skin was covered in furry green warts, which gave her the general appearance of a giant, human-shaped _mimbulus mimbletonia_. Hermione looked up at the ceiling and sighed. She was a weak fool, and when Harry found out about how she broke down, which he undoubtedly would and most likely from her own lips, he would laugh at her. He'd been through so much worse and continued on, yet she couldn't get her mind past one single instance of pain. She felt dirty and pathetic.

On impulse, Hermione pulled up her sleeve and stared hard at her scar. MUDBLOOD. The letters were jagged and uneven and an angry, deep red. They no longer bled or oozed. The scabs had healed as well, though the skin that healed over was raised up like puff paint. She traced her fingers over the letters. Beneath the skin was a patch of firm inflammation, which she knew was her body trying to heal the deep gouges internally. The scar would likely fade with time, but it would never go away. She had to learn to accept it.

Rolling onto her left side, Hermione nestled into her arm and brought her knees most of the way up to her chest. She closed her eyes and focused on her steady breathing until she fell back asleep.


	17. Chapter 8b: Confusing

_May 2003—_

Draco and Hermione made their way slowly back towards the house through the orchard and extended grounds in awkward silence. They entered to find Blaise, Luna, and Narcissa seated around the kitchen table and already halfway through their lunch. Narcissa looked up and met Draco's eyes when they entered. He knew her cold, blank stare was actually a question. One corner of his mouth twitched up into the ghost of an empty smirk. His mother seemed to understand, and returned immediately to her sandwich and tea without comment. Bucksy pulled out a chair for Hermione, who took it with a grimace, and Draco seated himself on her right, directly across from his mother.

"Took you long enough, mate," Blaise commented, quirking an eyebrow. "Mrs. Malfoy insisted we start without you." Draco nodded.

"Did you see any Cumulonimbus or Nimbostratus clouds while you were out there, Draco?" Luna asked as she pried her sandwich open and began to eat one of the triangular halves. "They're bad omens for the start of a journey," she added after swallowing down her first bite, then proceeding to take a bite from the other open-faced half. Draco stared at her.

"I told Miss Lovegood that you were planning to forecast the weather before lunch. I assumed that's why you were outside, dear," Narcissa said lightly. Draco smirked, wondering how many times in his life he'd have occasion to appreciate her tact, quick thinking, and subtlety.

"No challenges to report," he said flatly. Hermione coughed at his left, but he refused to let his eyes glance in her direction.

"Hermione, did you taste anything salty out there?" Luna turned to ask her friend. Hermione's eyes widened.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked positively aghast, and Draco had to stifle a smirk. Blaise, however, burst out in raucous laughter.

"In the air. Was there a salty taste?" Luna pressed on.

"There's a story here!" Blaise announced, once he caught his breath. Draco tried to catch his friend's eye to shut him up hopefully without being too obvious, but Blaise suddenly rounded on Luna. "What, pray tell, should we all learn from a salty taste in the air?" Draco groaned. Not only was Blaise turning Shakespearean again (one of his favorite theatrics), but Luna's giant intake of breath that followed was as foreboding of a bad omen as Draco'd ever seen. He rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Daddy published a very interesting article a few years ago about divination using all of your senses. Sight and second sight were the most obvious, but the section on taste was extremely riveting and revolutionary to the divining community. If you stand facing north in the early morning, you can stick out your tongue and swallow the air." This Luna felt the need to demonstrate, and began gulping at nothing like a deranged goldfish trapped in an air bubble.

"Like this?" Blaise asked as he mimicked her motions exactly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Not quite. Use your tongue more, like this," Luna continued lapping at the air and Blaise broke down into another bout of laughter. Narcissa stood up wordlessly, raised one eyebrow at Draco, and withdrew to the front room. Draco opened his mouth to shut up his friend, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Luna, we're probably within two kilometers of the seashore. All of the air here is salty from the ocean," she quipped. "And Blaise?" He looked up at her, still gasping for air. "Shut up."

Draco could barely hide his grin. They passed the rest of the meal similarly, unable to stop Luna's inane chatter and Blaise's chortling retorts.

* * *

That evening found the four companions and Narcissa seated on couches around a large coffee table in the downstairs living room. Bucksy had poured them each a large glass of wine to whet their appetites as Dotty served an array of light hors d'oeuvres. Draco sipped his wine and glared at Hermione.

"How on Earth did you think we were going to be traveling when we couldn't apparate?" he asked her through a tight sneer. Really, for someone so intelligent, he couldn't fathom her lack of practicality here.

"I had _presumed_ ," she scoffed, "that you were well traveled enough to apparate us most of the way. Isn't that the whole point of you taking the lead with the planning? You're the only one who knows the distances and locations you're comfortable with." Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione steamrolled on. "Didn't you say that you'd already forced Blaise to memorize a series of rendezvous points? That would imply that you _and he_ already knew these locations and could transport us without resorting to something so crude as—"

"Crude?" Draco interrupted. "Flying is not a crude form of transport, Granger! In fact, it's the most common and practical form of magical transportation when you can't floo or portkey somewhere."

"And _why_ can't we portkey to Greece?" she spat. "Surely Gringotts has enough contacts to get us a safe portkey and save us days of hard travel."

"Ask your friend that question," Draco pointed at Luna as he spoke. "And I don't think I should have to remind you about the events of this morning. We don't yet know who the Red Robes are or why they seem to be after us. I wouldn't even trust Muggle transportation right now."

"Draco's right, Hermione. I don't think we can go back to Gringotts," Luna said with an apologetic glance in her friend's direction. Draco balked at the unexpected support.

"Let's agree for the time being," Blaise added, "that Gringotts is compromised. Where's our first apparition point?"

"Rochefort," Draco replied, speaking directly to Blaise. "We can both side-along apparate," he indicated the Hermione and Luna, "but we'll need to rest for a while and continue by broom for the remainder of the day." Blaise closed his eyes for a few minutes; his brows knit together, and his mouth turned downwards into a slight frown.

"That's about three hundred kilometers from here?"

Draco nodded.

"With the caves?"

Draco nodded again.

"He's right, Hermione," Blaise turned to her with an apologetic look to match Luna's. "We'll need to continue on foot or by broom for the remainder of that day."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione huffed. "Three hundred kilometers is nowhere near my max apparition distance." She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the couch cushions. Draco exchanged a look with Blaise, and his friend fortunately took the hint and spoke.

"It's not about the max distance for one trip. It's about leaving yourself some emergency reserves."

"Miss Granger," Hermione jumped as Narcissa spoke up for the first time that evening, "if you apparate farther than Rochefort and find that these Red Robes are on your tail or, Merlin forbid, waiting for you, anyone would be too weak to side-along apparate two people again to safety. The distance is a precaution for your own well-being, and Draco is right to insist upon this." She nodded in deference to her son. Hermione closed her eyes, and Draco could tell she acknowledged the reasoning as sound. He also knew what the real problem was, but didn't dare broach it himself. As if reading his mind tonight—Draco suddenly remembered that his friend _was_ a fairly accomplished Legilimens—Blaise piped up and asked the real question at hand.

"What's so bad about brooms anyway, Hermione? Are you afraid of flying or something?"

"NO," Draco and Hermione said in unison, causing her to glower further. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He hadn't even gotten to the part Hermione was going to hate yet. When he opened his eyes, he looked straight into Hermione's furious glare and let all of his tension and frustration slip away. When he felt that welcome blank slate overtake him, he began to speak softly, directly to her.

"We'll start with Rochefort, rest, and walk a ways through the town. Once we're in open country, we'll have no choice but to fly across that terrain. It'd be fastest and safest to fly in pairs—two per broom—and Blaise and I brought travel brooms for exactly this reason." Hermione's mouth fell open, but he held up a hand to stop her and pushed on. "Just think it over. Sleep on it, or whatever. We'll continue this tomorrow. Dotty's going to throw a fit if we don't move on to dinner soon."

"An excellent notion, Draco," Narcissa said. "This way, if you please." She led the small party through to the dining hall, which was already full of warm, flavorful aromas that had everyone's mouth watering the second they entered. Draco caught Hermione glancing up at him several times throughout the meal with a question behind her eyes. She never voiced it, or spoke at all throughout the meal except to offer her thanks to Narcissa and the house elves, leaving Draco feeling strangely hollow.

After, Bucksy led each of the guests to their appointed rooms for the night. Blaise, having visited several times before, took this opportunity to act as a mock guide for Luna and Hermione, parading them around the upstairs and telling stories about their ill-spent summers as youths. Draco heard Luna coo and gasp appreciatively at his ridiculous commentary from downstairs as he remained behind in the dining room with his mother.

"Draco, is there anything you need to tell me?" she asked him, leaving all pretense aside. Draco just shook his head in reply. They finished their wine, and Narcissa filled the silence with her plans for Malfoy Manner while he was away. Finally, Narcissa stood up, crossed the room to him, and laid one hand on his shoulder.

"Rest, son," she commanded him lightly. She was right: a good night's rest would do him wonders. He rose and followed her upstairs, retreating to his own bedroom at the end of the hall. Sleep proved to be an elusive temptress yet again for him, but when he finally did drift off, his dreams were filled with the sickly sweetness of orange blossoms, the bite of a lover's kiss, and the jagged comfort of forgotten regrets.

* * *

Draco woke to the sound of a light tapping on his door. His mother had probably sent Dotty to wake him. Judging from the scant light peeking in through the window, it was barely after dawn. He groaned, wondering what his mother could possibly need from him this early.

"Enter," his voice croaked when he tried to speak, annoying him further.

The door opened very slowly, but he noticed a distinct lack of Dotty's shuffling, tiny feet. He lifted the pillow and peered out one eye at the door. Hermione stood at the threshold, scanning the room and looking very sleepy herself.

"Granger?" he asked, sitting up quickly and causing her to jump.

"Draco, I—"

"Come in and close the door," he said, and dropped back onto his pillows. Hermione was wrapped in a plush robe, obviously one from her room since it had the Malfoy crest embroidered on the front, and had her hair pulled back into a bushy bun. She glanced around the room again, then pulled her wand out of her robe pocket. Draco raised an eyebrow, wondering what she was thinking to do. She flicked her wand at an armchair that scooted across the room to his bedside. She crossed the room as if wandering into his bedroom this early in the morning was the most natural and expected thing she could do. She plopped down in the armchair and pulled her feet up into the chair with her, snuggling herself in. The corners of Draco's mouth twitched. He knew she loved to sit all scrunched up in chairs, especially plush ones like his armchair.

Draco let his eyes roam over her petite frame. She had slight circles under her eyes and heavy, dropping eyelids protesting her lack of sleep, but she still had a delicate natural glow radiating from her skin—or what skin he could see that wasn't hidden by her robe. Even so, she turned her eyes up to him in a way that struck him with sadness. Or, was it fear? Both were foreign on her face. He wracked his sleep-deprived brain and found no reason for her to be in his room, so he did the only sensible thing he could come up with. He met her eyes and waited for her to speak.

"Do you… want to talk about it? Before everyone else gets up, I mean," she said at last.

Draco couldn't help the way his eyes widened, but he recovered by narrowing them an instant later in what he hoped came off as scrutiny. His mind popped awake and flew into overdrive. Did she really want to overanalyze this with him? He opened his mouth, but closed it again and swallowed, then reached for the glass of water on his bedside table, trying to buy himself some time.

The kisses they had shared lapped fires into his very soul. They already infiltrated his dreams, and now that he was awake, he could feel his body aching for more. What could he possibly say to her that wouldn't sound desperate or pathetic? Had she changed her mind? Or worse, had she _not_ changed her mind and come to tell him off? He'd drunk three-quarters of his glass and couldn't use it as a pretense any longer.

"What about it?" Draco heard himself say, reaching to set the glass down. _Brilliant. Very clever._

Hermione sighed. "I just don't think I can do it."

Draco waited, praying she'd go on and save him from having to reply just yet.

"The last time," she began mercifully, "I don't know how it happened, but before I knew it, I was falling. Fast and hard. I'm just no good at this, and I'm sure it'll be different with you this time, but I'm just so afraid."

Blood pounded into Draco's ears, and his chest swelled with a storm of emotions. Was he hearing her correctly? All this time that they'd spent apart, and now suddenly she was ready to admit that it was because of her own fears? _Something's not right here_ , he thought. _This doesn't sound like her._ Then again, Draco was always too skeptical and full of doubt. She'd paused, waiting for him to reply. What could he say?

"You're afraid?" he asked hoarsely. This seemed to bristle her.

"This isn't easy for me to admit, Malfoy. I've gotten by just fine for years without. I know I've dealt with my share of pain in the past, but that doesn't mean I fancy the idea of plummeting to my death."

"That's a bit dramatic," he drawled. Her use of metaphors was really deplorable.

"No it isn't!" she snapped. "You of all people should understand. You were there the last time with Ron when—"

" _Weasley?_ What the fuck does Weasley have to do with anything?" he spat. His stomach leapt into his throat, and he tasted bile at the mention of that idiot. If he never had to think of Weaselbee again, it'd be too soon.

"Calm down. You can't tell me you still hate him. When's the last time you even saw him?"

Draco had to think about that. It had been years since he last saw the Weasel, and he wasn't sure when exactly it was. A memory forced its way to the forefront of his mind and flooded his vision. One involving Hermione, Potter, Weasley, and the Weaselette on the Hogwarts quidditch pitch, which ended in her taking a thirty-foot drop before Potter swooped and caught her at the last second. He growled at the memory of watching from the Slytherin stands, helpless, as Weasley tried to show off and accidentally clipped Hermione's broomtail, causing her to lose balance, overcorrect, and…

Bloody hell. She was talking about flying (and falling _from a broom_ ) this whole time. He sighed, everything clicking into place.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe it was even that day."

Hermione's eyes softened. Draco gave her a slight smile, trying to stop his tumult of thoughts from showing on his face.

"Is there anything, _anything_ else we could do?"

Draco sighed again. "I know you don't want to hear this, but no. There's just no other practical way, unless we want to be hiking through open country for months."

Hermione groaned. "Fine, but I'm flying with you. I don't know Blaise well enough to trust him on a broomstick."

"Done," Draco agreed, and his stomach flipped. Hermione still looked anxious, though slightly less so, he thought. "Was there anything else?" he asked, trying to dismiss her. Hermione shook her head. Rather than getting up and retreating, she nestled a bit deeper into the cushions of her chair and yawned into the back of her hand. Her eyelids drooped and closed, and Draco felt his own lids turn heavy. Before he could stop himself, he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Three hours later, Draco awoke for the second time that morning feeling groggy and more tired than before he fell asleep. He was scrunched all the way to the edge of his bed with one arm extended awkwardly off the side. His eyes popped open. Hermione was still fast asleep in the armchair at his bedside with his hand in her lap, his fingers intertwined with hers. Her breath was even, and her dark lashes rested peacefully on her cheek. He had rarely seen her so at ease.

Slowly, carefully, he slipped his fingers from her grasp and crept out the opposite side of the bed. He threw his house robe over his shoulders and silently exited the room. For good measure, he threw a quick silencing charm over his door, then headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. There wasn't much Draco had left to offer Hermione, but if he could afford her her much-needed rest, he damn well would.

Blaise and Luna were already at it in the kitchen. Draco walked in to Blaise drowning his Belgian waffle in syrup as he listened, engrossed, to Luna's latest anecdote.

"The guide kept saying it was an erumpent that was too young to have grown a horn yet, but Daddy saw the luminescent hooves and fairy dust aura. He spotted at once that it was actually a moon calf."

"A moon calf? Are they big?" Blaise seemed genuinely interested, and had yet to even notice Draco.

"Ooh, yes. The parent moon cows will apparate to the moon when they're ready to mate, so the calves will always sparkle with moonlight, and they're less affected by gravity."

Blaise let out a barking laugh. "You don't say! Draco, come join us. She's going to tell me the story of the left-footed woovle next." His eyebrows danced up at Draco, who just rolled his eyes and continued out to the patio. Narcissa had her own breakfast tray set up outside, and she extended her hand to him, beckoning him to join her, when he sauntered out.

"Good morning, Draco," Narcissa said formally, though Draco noticed an unusual amount of amusement in her voice. "How did you and Miss Granger sleep?" Draco quirked an eyebrow. "I'm aware she wasn't in her bed this morning."

"Mother," he chided her in a light, warning tone.

"What? Can't a mother make an innocent observation about her son?" she replied.

"Please. Nothing you do is innocent."

"Shocking. And this is how you speak to your mother?"

"No, this is how I speak to a meddlesome witch."

"Don't be silly, Draco," Narcissa tutted, as if to demonstrate her disapproval. "We don't all have young, exciting lives. Let a woman live vicariously."

"Through the sex life of her son?" Draco asked incredulously. Narcissa chuckled.

"Don't be crude, either. No, I don't even want to _think_ about what you do behind closed doors. Matters of your heart, though, are a different story."

"My heart is my own."

"You exist because of me, child."

He laughed, and Narcissa joined in. Her voice was as bright and twinkling as her eyes, which she kept trained on his face. After a while, they lapsed into an awkward silence, as was his mother's way. She kept the silence tense to force him into divulging more. _Conniving wench._

"She was just worried about flying. She couldn't sleep and came in early to talk through it. Everything's fine, and we'll leave soon."

"One more day, Draco. Give me one more day before you go."

Draco frowned.

"Just today."

He sighed. "Of course." He stood and leaned over her, kissing her forehead, then fixed himself a plate from her tray. The smile his simple gesture elicited from her warmed the cockles of his strangled heart. That is, until he heard some commotion in the kitchen. Through the window, he saw Hermione was up and settling herself into a chair opposite Luna and Blaise, her back and bushy mane towards him, taunting him. He frowned and felt that familiar, terse constriction snake back through his chest.


	18. Chapter 9a: Trying

**A/N: I know! You thought this story was abandoned! It most certainly is not, but progress is slow going because of life. I will try to update with smaller time gaps in the future. :)**

 _September 1998—_

Hermione sat in front of the fireplace at the Burrow. The heat from the flames was turning her cheeks and the tip of her nose a rosy pink. Ron was next to her drinking a bottle of butterbeer, his arm draped lazily across her shoulders. He turned to her and rested his forehead against her temple.

"You're beautiful," he whispered in her ear.

Next thing she knew, he was kissing her hungrily. His arm scooped around the small of her back and pulled her closer to him. His other hand stroked up her back and intertwined in the curls of her hair. His lips were urgent on hers, pressing down firmly. She let her eyes close, trying to enjoy the kiss, but something didn't feel right. He pulled back, and when she opened her eyes again, she was in front of the fire in the Head common room. Ernie was grinning down at her, holding her close. His lips moved, and he mumbled something that she couldn't make out.

"Granger, you're moaning," he repeated in a whisper, but the voice didn't fit his lips. "Merlin help me if I'm going to have to listen to this all day. Wake up."

Hermione's eyes popped open. She was in the Hospital Wing. The girl with the green welts was still in a bed nearby, and Malfoy was in the bed directly to her left. She frowned. She seemed to spend a lot of time frowning lately. Malfoy was eying her with suspicion.

"You alive?" he asked with a sneer.

"Shut it, Malfoy. Why are you even here?"

"Your boyfriend hit me with a triple stunner for no reason. Would it have killed you to speak up and tell him it wasn't me?"

"He isn't my boyfriend!" Hermione shouted, though it came out more like a croak. She covered her face with her hands and felt the heat from her flushed cheeks. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"What's that?" he smirked. "Didn't quite hear you."

"You're a right foul git, you know that?"

"Please, stop, your words are hurting me," Malfoy replied dryly.

"You know what? No. I'm not having this anymore. You're stuck with me right now, and it's time for some answers. What the hell's going on with you lately? And don't tell me 'nothing,' because that's just bollocks."

Malfoy's eyes darkened. "There _is_ nothing. You read the letter, and I already told you—I'm trying. You're just the most convenient person for the job, and it'd make my mother happy. You're supposed to be smart, Granger. Connect the rest of the dots on your own." He scowled and turned away from her. She scowled and did the same.

It was nearly dinner when Hermione was released. Madame Pomfrey had given her a small vile of stress-reducing potion and another small one of dreamless sleep potion, with instructions to take the latter that night right before bed and the former the next time she started feeling particularly anxious.

Shen sat next to Ginny in the Great Hall, who hugged her tightly. All the muscles in Hermione's body relaxed a little, but the moment was fleeting.

"You've got a lot of nerve pulling a stunt like that," Ginny said in a tone that was alarmingly similar to Mrs. Weasley's. "What exactly is going on with you?"

Hermione gave in to Ginny's glare. Ginny was her closest friend, apart from Harry and Ron, and it was useless keeping things from her.

"Oh, Ginny, it's just everything," Hermione started, and the rest came pouring out. "It's my parents, and Ron and Harry not being here, and I'm confused about Ernie, and then stupid Malfoy, and my scar hurting so much, and the nightmares—"

"Hermione," Ginny cut her off. "What do you mean about your scar hurting and nightmares?"

"It's not a big deal, but—"

"The last time I heard about someone's scar hurting and causing them nightmares was from Harry, and he had a piece of Voldemort's soul trapped inside of him. It is a big deal, and you're going to tell me right now." Ginny got up, meal unfinished, and dragged Hermione from the Great Hall and across the castle. She neither stopped nor looked back until they were at the Gryffindor portrait hole.

"Password?" asked the Fat Lady.

"Knicking niffler," Ginny replied. The painting swung open, and she continued to pull Hermione bodily through the portrait hole.

"I can walk myself, you know!" Hermione protested, but Ginny wouldn't stop until they were seated together in a secluded corner of the common room. Most students were still at dinner, so the common room was practically empty.

"Now," Ginny said in a stern and commanding tone that would do Mrs. Weasley proud, "tell me _everything_."

Hermione sighed, but she did as she was told. She recounted her nightmares to Ginny, though she tried to gloss over the severity at first. Ginny eyed her shrewdly and gave a rather Umbridge-like cough. Hermione took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and shared everything with her enigmatic friend. The more she talked, the easier it became. She explained her theory about repeated _Crucios_ causing the dreams, as they all knew the lingering mental trauma which that Unforgivable Curse could produce. Ginny's eyes flicked to Neville, who was seated at the far end of the common room with his nose deep in a herbology text.

"Listen, Hermione," Ginny began, and Hermione was relieved to hear the warmth returned to her voice, "you can't keep this all to yourself. It'll eat away at you from the inside. Whether you want to tell it to me or put it all in a letter to Harry, that's your choice, but you have to do something. And, please, I know how you are—don't try to spare our feelings. We've all been through a lot, and the last thing any of us wants is one of us suffering in silence."

"Okay, I promise."

"You lot, all the same," Ginny muttered, shaking her head. Hermione cocked her head to one side. "You three think keeping things in is some sort of tragic, noble heroism. Well, look where that got Harry, and look where it's getting Ron, and look where it just got you. Seriously, you three actually saved the wizarding world?" Ginny scoffed, but flashed a smirk Hermione's way. Hermione genuinely smiled back.

* * *

Talking with Ginny felt good, but as Hermione made her way back to her common room, she knew exactly what she had to do. As if knowing this would be coming, Ernie was lounging in one of the chintz armchairs and reading a book. He looked up as the stained-glass door closed behind her.

"Hermione," he sat up straight, "you okay?"

"Yes," she smiled unconvincingly, "all better." Ernie raised his eyebrows at her.

"It was just stress," she continued, "and it wasn't Malfoy. He was telling the truth, he came down and found me like that."

"Blimey," Ernie said, running his hand through his hair. "I guess I owe him an apology."

"Yes, you rather do," Hermione laughed lightly, and Ernie gave a faint smile. They lapsed into silence, just staring at each other. Hermione suddenly realized how close they were. She'd sat down at the edge of the armchair opposite him, but as they both leaned forward in earnest, they'd left scarcely a foot between their lips. The fire roared beside them, and Hermione flew backwards in her chair when the feeling of _déjà vu_ crept in.

"Listen, Ernie," she said as she began to rise, "I've... There're some things I should probably share with you. It's just, I mean it's all a bit personal, not that I don't want to share or mind sharing. I've just had a long day, you see."

Ernie stood up, too, and put his hand on her shoulder. They were a full arms-length apart, but Hermione still flushed at his touch.

"We've all been through a lot," he said, "but you more than most. We can talk some other time. I just wanted to be sure you're okay."

Hermione nodded, and her heart warmed at his words. Seizing her Gryffindor courage, she pulled him into a swift hug—which he tightly reciprocated—then retreated up her red-lit stairwell.

The day had been taxing for her, but she knew what else she had to do before its end. As soon as she entered her room, her eyes fell on the sapphire quill. Crookshanks weaved his way through her legs and purred up at her. She wasted no time in getting ready for bed, though she did allow herself a short, steaming bath. She towel-dried her curls, wrapped herself in a fluffy, red robe, and seated herself at her desk. The moment she picked up the quill, the gems on the finger grip flashed to life. She released the quill, and it immediately began to write.

 _'You should probably be sleeping.'_

Of all the things Malfoy would say, Hermione did not expect him to admonish her. If she hadn't known better, she would've thought it were Ginny at the other end of the quill.

 _'You're one to talk. I didn't take a triple-stunner today. How long have you been sitting with the quill in your hand?'_

 _'A while. It's pretty boring in here. Plus, this quill writes so smoothly—I've been using it for essays.'_

There was a pause. Hermione had no idea how to respond. Normally, Hermione had no shortage of words, especially in writing. She usually had a fair number of quips up her sleeve, too. Being civil with Malfoy was making her brain do cartwheels in the most unproductive ways. He saved her the trouble of small talk when he wrote back again.

 _'I take it you connected the dots?'_

 _'Yes, well, I am rather smart you see.'_ She smirked and imagined him doing the same.

 _'And so full of wit.'_

 _'Jealous?'_

 _'Very.'_

Hermione thought carefully about what next to write, even though she was itching to blurt out her question. There were only so many people she knew with scars caused by dark magic, and Harry wasn't as available as Malfoy just then. She hadn't even received an owl back from him yet. She let out a slow breath and began to write.

 _'Malfoy, does your,'_ she hesitated but decided to forge on, ' _Mark ever hurt anymore?'_

Of course, he knew what Mark she was referring to. The answer came faster than she'd expected. _'No, not anymore. It's just a scar now. Sometimes... it hurts when I'm asleep, though.'_

 _'Like in your dreams?'_

 _'Yeah, I suppose.'_

Relief flooded out of Hermione. She didn't realize until she had the answer just how desperate she'd been to hear that she wasn't alone in her pain-filled nightmares. She couldn't stand the thought of them being unique to her, and she had a new sense of empathy for how Harry must've felt all those years. But, now she _knew_ better. The scar Bellatrix left on her arm was from dark magic, and as Ginny had pointed out, her only experience with dark magic scars was from Harry. His scar stopped hurting once it's caster died, but Malfoy's didn't, just like Hermione's didn't. This gave her a new thought, but how do you politely ask whether someone's been repeatedly tortured with the Cruciatus Curse by the former Dark Lord? That might have to be for another day. One puzzle piece had fallen into place, and that was more than she'd hoped for. She looked back down to the paper. Malfoy had already scratched out a reply.

 _'Does yours?'_ Malfoy had asked. There were so many ways Hermione thought to answer this question, but she decided that, in this case, she owed him the truth.

 _'Yes. Yes, it does. Quite a lot more than I'd like.'_

 _'While you're awake or asleep?'_

 _'Asleep mostly, though sometimes it lingers after I've woken up.'_

 _'That's a delightful side effect of being_ Crucio'd _. Welcome to the club. Theo and I figured it out a while ago. I suppose we should be thankful that we weren't turned into nutters or something, but that's a bit hard when you're being driven mad with pain in your dreams.'_

Hermione's eyes widened. Did he know what she was thinking? She eyed the quill, suddenly wary of its powers, and shifted the topic slightly. She wrote, _'Theodore Nott was a Death Eater?'_

The reply came quickly—almost eagerly: _'Yeah, so was his father. That bloody bastard beat Theo with a nine-tailed whip until he agreed to take the Mark.'_

 _'That's horrible!'_ Hermione's mind was reeling. She'd never let herself think about what the children of Death Eaters might have to go through at the hands of their parents. What she imagined (based on the little she knew) was enough to turn her skin ashen.

 _'There's a lot worse than that.'_

 _'I kind of figured. Hasn't exactly been a picnic for us, though.'_

The quill hesitated for a long while after that. Hermione couldn't help the wry smile that spread across her face as she waited. She didn't like being the only one caught off guard in conversations with Malfoy. Finally, he wrote, _'I know.'_

The silence lapsed again, etched even sharper by the stationary quill hovering expectantly in front of her. There was no recovery from this topic, though. It didn't matter who she was talking with, each conversation ended the same when talking about the effects of the war. Hermione let the silence expand and the quill wait patiently, gemlights flashing all the while, until she decided to make her exit.

 _'It's getting late. We'll have a lot to make up for tomorrow, so we should probably get some rest.'_

 _'Easy for you to say. I haven't got a Dreamless Sleep Potion, have I?'_

Hermione felt a pang of guilt at this. She was looking forward to a good night's rest for once. She wondered if it would still be effective if she shared half the potion with Malfoy, but she quickly shook the thought from her head. It was quite bad enough that she was having full conversations with him, albeit in writing. He might be deserving of her pity, maybe even her understanding, but she did _not_ have to go about helping him with his problems, too. She looked back at her paper. It was surreal to see their conversation recorded in neat lines, alternating between her delicate, curving hand and his angular, precise letters. What would anyone else think if they got hold of this paper? She considered burning it, but then another idea popped into her head.

 _'I haven't got enough to share_ ,' she wrote, and the pang of guilt flashed through her again. ' _Sorry_ ,' she added.

 _'Not your fault. If you want to go to Flitwick and Babbling tomorrow, I'll trudge out to Sprout.'_

 _'What do you mean?'_

 _'Our Mondays are the same, Granger, in case you haven't noticed. We both need to get yesterday's work.'_

 _'Oh! Yes, that'd be great.'_ The offer caught Hermione completely by surprise. As an afterthought, she added, _'Thanks.'_

 _'Enjoy your sleep.'_

 _'Goodnight'_

The quill dropped, and Hermione replaced it in the box. Malfoy seemed to have more control over the quills than she did. She wondered if this were by design, or if she simply didn't know how to control them fully. She made a mental note to ask Professor Flitwick more about them when she visited him tomorrow for their assignments.

Hermione's eyes scanned the few rows of books in her now overcrowded bookshelf. She had a habit of acquiring books throughout the school year. In the past, she'd sent them home when she was sure she wouldn't need them again, but that was no longer possible. Not only was there no one to send them home to, but her parents had sold their house before moving to Australia, so there was no home for her left in any sense of the word. The corners of her eyes prickled, but she put that thought firmly from her mind and focused on the bookshelf. It was a nice feeling to have a small library at her disposal, and quite a bit more convenient to have them laid out on shelves instead of stacked haphazardly in a magically enlarged purse. She smiled at the memory of her, Harry, and Ron _accio'ing_ random books and reading in the firelight, hoping that anything at all would put them on the trail of another Horcrux. Not all her memories from last year were bad, considering.

She closed her fingers over a thin, blue volume and returned to her desk. It was a blank journal. She turned to the first page and carefully aligned the parchment atop it. She muttered a transference spell, very similar to the duplicating spell she would cast on her notes to make copies for Harry and Ron, and smiled when the letters perfectly transposed themselves onto the journal page. She repeated this until the whole conversation was captured in the first few pages, then she tossed the loose sheaf into her fireplace. She sat transfixed and watched as the flames licked over the surface and turned the parchment to ash. Then, she turned to the journal. There was something satisfying and oddly official about seeing their neat script preserved in its pages.

At the foot of her bed, her trunk lay closed with its contents neatly organized inside. Unlike Harry and Ron, she had always kept her trunk immaculate throughout the year, though it had turned into a storage compartment now with so much space available in her room. Her beaded purple bag was tucked into the lower right corner. She considered it for a moment, but settled instead on hiding the journal beneath her stack of extra potion supplied.

On the other side of the wall, Malfoy slid a similar thin, black journal with gold leafing behind a row of books in his matching bookshelf. Satisfied with this hiding place, he threw himself onto his four-poster and resigned himself to another restless night's sleep.


	19. Chapter 9b: Trying

**A/N: I know! You thought this story was abandoned! It most certainly is not, but progress is slow going because of life. I will try to update with smaller time gaps in the future. :)**

 _May 2003—_

The extra day that Draco promised to Narcissa passed quickly for the four companions. Nothing more interesting happened than a frustrated sigh, a pair of fingers pinching a nose bridge, and a chorus of irritable glares. Draco took dinner alone with his mother, which they passed the meal in heavy silence.

Two by two, the companion side-along apparated to Rochefort as dawn peaked her crimson rays over the horizon. Blaise led them meanderingly through the small Muggle town as if they were on holiday. Giving up the lead for a while worked well for Draco, since appearing relaxed and interested in his surroundings was far from his forte. While he was no stranger to intrigue and subtly, his mind saw the world in straight lines, goals, and absolutes.

"This is a lovely town," Luna observed. "It's quaint and small, just like a town ought to be."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Luna, come look over here," Blaise called as he crossed the street. Draco watched the dirty-blonde explosion that Luna considered a hairdo bob across the street. Hermione followed her friend, leaving Draco alone on his side of the walkway. He took the opportunity to absorb his surroundings. The street was bordered on Draco's side by a small river that wound through the center of town. Eclectic shops and restaurants ran along the opposite side, all of which Blaise seemed intent on exploring. The buildings looked at least a century old with steeply slating roofs and a maximum of three floors. Aside from an impressive church looming up ahead, there was very little else to remark on.

Draco turned his eyes to the people on the street. There were few others wandering about at that hour of the morning. He figured within two hours the town would spring into life, which was part of the reason they decided to leave at the hour they had. A stout man in a bowler hat frowned at Draco and pointedly shouldered him as he passed, breaking Draco's reverie. He reluctantly crossed the street to rejoin his party.

"What do they use it for?" Luna was asking Hermione.

"It's for sewing and embroidery," Hermione explained. "Though, this one's an antique. Modern sewing machines are electric, but this ones powered by a rocking pedal."

"They also use it to stitch up people's skin," Blaise interjected.

"Really?" Luna's eyes sparkled. "How fascinating!"

Hermione shook her head. "No… no they don't, Luna."

"Of course they do!" Blaise insisted, then he took Luna's arm and directed her attention to neatly lined shelves of thread visible through the window. "Just look back there. Thread to match every color of cloth _and_ skin-tone. It's ingenious, these Muggles!"

Hermione huffed and opened her mouth wide, no doubt ready to protest with all the vehemence her Gryffindor temper could muster. Blaise shot her a quick look and winked.

"Fool," Draco heard Hermione whisper under her breath. He chuckled, and she threw him a fantastic scowl. They passed the next shop of more inane curiosities, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He stopped short. With a conscious effort, Draco forced a casual pace, keeping it as slow as he dared. Hermione slowed as well, and he watched her eyes dart around furiously, though she kept her head as still as possible. He kept his eyes trained on her, as they had been the whole time, and let his periphery and instincts guide him.

There. A flicker of movement in the upper corner of his eye.

Draco's head snapped to the left window of the middle flat that topped the children's clothing store, which they now stood directly in front of. He thought he saw a flash of deep red at the window before his eyes focused on the empty pane. Did he imagine it? No, something was off. He squinted, focusing his mind as he unfocused his eyes—a technique he'd picked up years ago to heighten his perception. He didn't know how it worked, but it always did. The curtains: they were swaying slightly, but the window was shut. Someone had been there a moment before, and he had a bad feeling he could guess who.

"Hey, slow down, you impatient arse. I wanted to see that last shop," he called out a hair louder than he needed to. Blaise's ears twitched, and he slowly turned to regard Draco. This was one of their codes. They'd been building a complex language over the past few years that could convey plans, information, threat levels, and locations in the form of everyday chatter. As soon as it began, they dropped using all names as well.

Blaise cracked a patronizing smile. "Well, well, well. Poor, little prince needs a slower pace. What do you say, girls? Shall we slow down for his lordship?" Blaise's head nodded to Luna and Hermione in turn, but his eyes stayed on Draco. That was the second code, and further evidence to why Draco preferred Blaise over any other as a companion on a dangerous job. To an outsider, particularly with a distant view, he'd made it look like their party pausing was the most casual and natural thing in the world. But Draco could read his thoughts as easily as if they'd taken a Mind Meld Potion. He took one step to the right, closer to Hermione, and crossed his arms. Blaise mirrored him, stepping closer to Luna on _his_ right. It was time for a show.

"Salazar's withering, grey sack! Is slowing the fuck down so bloody offensive to your monumentally shitty intellect?" One creative slur; three curse words. Blaise's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded once.

"You think I'm the arse here?" Blaise raised his voice. "I'm not the daft prick who forced us awake before the bloody sun got a chance to straddle Apollo's fiery cock!" He raised his voice again. "None of the stores are open yet, so unless you'd like to stop here and suck MY prick off, we're moving." Greek reference; repeated talk about dicks. Draco couldn't help his twisted grin at Blaise's ridiculous creativity, though. The plan was set. They just needed to put it in full motion and agree on a rendezvous.

"Fuck off!" Draco yelled. Windows were starting to open, and wary faces peered down at them. Step two. "Your mom didn't have any problem with me when I was plowing her caverns last night. Did you know she likes it in the ass, too?" It was sloppy, but effective. Blaise growled in convincing rage.

"We'll see whose hole is gonna get fucked!" Blaise took a wild swing at Draco, which he easily dodged. "You're gonna take it in the arse so hard, you'll be anemic by the time I'm done with you!"

Draco swung at Blaise, a close miss, and a new voice joined in on the shouting.

"What are you two doing?" Hermione was shouting. "Stop this! What's gotten into you? Now is not the time to regress into barbarians! Can't you feel—"

Blaise lunged for him again, forcing him to jump back and nearly crash into Granger. _Crafty bastard_. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into away from the fray.

"Shut up and stand exactly here," he hissed quickly, hoping she could read the knowing in his eyes well enough to listen. He turned back to Blaise. "You almost hit my wife, you fucktard!" Hermione's eyes bored into him so fast he could feel them like tiny daggers in his skull. _That got her attention_.

The two men continued to shout and lunge at each other. Blaise pushed Draco into the street. Draco retaliated with a swing that clipped Blaise's shoulder. The townsfolk were now gaping out their windows and some were yelling down at them in Dutch or broken English. They continued until several men started appearing on the streets.

"Get out of my sight you sick, twisted bastard!" Blaise screamed as he pushed Draco away.

"Bite me," Draco growled. "I'm outta here." That was it. He hurried towards Hermione and pulled her bodily along down a winding street. She squealed and huffed, but didn't protest. Hopefully she'd caught on. They turned left and right haphazardly through the city, sprinting as fast as they could. Finally arriving at a rickety, abandoned building, Draco slammed the door open and pulled Hermione in.

They stood still for six heartbeats in the darkness. Then, Draco felt a wandtip prod the back of his neck.

"Drop it," a voice with a thick accent growled at him. Draco was prepared for this. He silently conjured a stick about the length and weight of a wand at his side and allowed it to fall to the floor. He heard it clang and roll several feet away from him. The wand tip left his neck, and Draco knew three things: First, whoever they were up against needed something out of him or Hermione, otherwise they'd both have been hit with _Avadas_ already. Second, there were few enough of _them_ in the room that the same one threatening him had to also collect his wand. And third, the idiot was dumb enough to bend over. Conclusion: It was time to take chances.

Remembering where Hermione had last been, Draco shot five wordless stunning spells in an arc around them in rapid fire succession. The warehouse exploded in red light, and he saw three hooded figures, one of which was the man collecting Draco's wand. Without stopping, he kneed the bastard in the face and felt a sickening crunch. He turned his wand on the other two as his foe toppled to the ground with a garbled scream. More red light burst from Draco's side, and another of the hooded figures crumpled to the floor. It was two against one now, and Draco's companion was a brilliant witch. Not taking chances, he spared a moment to petrify the sod at his feet.

" _Petrificus totalus_!" he growled. As the words left his lips, Draco saw his mistake. It may have taken only a moment, but it was a moment more than he had.

A shock of purple bubbles sped towards Draco like soapy lightning. He saw Hermione cast a massive shield, repelling most of the bubbles. Too late: some had already made it through. Draco stood motionless, his disbelief slowing time before his very eyes, then they connected with his left arm and shoulder.

Pain exploded through Draco's arm. His mind went numb. More flashes of light erupted through the room.

Red.

Green.

White.

 _Blackness_.

* * *

Draco's eyes opened to a blur of blue light. A miserable pain was spreading through the left side of his body. He groaned.

"Don't move," Hermione said. He rolled onto his back (Hermione must have propped him up on his right side) and lay there. The cold floor against his shoulder helped, but the weight of gravity was crushing his bones. He growled, trying his best not to scream.

"Damn it, Draco, lay still!" Hermione hissed at him. Since when had he ever listened to her? He pushed himself to a seated position.

"Where are we?" he croaked. His throat felt like it hadn't been used in weeks.

"Still in the warehouse. I don't know where we are, and I don't know where we're supposed to meet up with the others."

Draco's eyes begin to adjust, and he finally appreciated the situation before him. Hermione had bound, gagged, and blindfolded the three robed men. They also seemed to all be stupefied, and he vaguely wondered how many times she'd had to re-stun them while he was out.

"How long have we been here?" he asked.

"Less than an hour, I think. How bad is it?"

He heard Hermione's light footfalls draw near. "I've been worse," Draco replied truthfully. Her brown eyes and wild curls flooded his vision, and he frowned and closed his eyes against the pity he saw in hers. Her fingers began prodding his shoulder more roughly than he'd like. Draco winced.

"You need another coat," Hermione mumbled. Draco dared a peek at her. She was rummaging through her backpack with one hand while the other held a scoop of flickering blue flames. Her wand was clutched in her teeth, and her hair exploded about her head like a violent cloud. Piles of blue flames lay scattered around the floor, but they appeared contained and self-consuming. He could clearly see the floor beneath the flames was unharmed, as was Hermione's hand. _She's really developed that spell_ , he mused.

Hermione shuffled back to him with a small jar in hand. "Dittany salve," she explained before he asked. Less effective than straight drops, but much more practical. "I've given you three coats already, but a fourth should do the trick."

One of the bound men groaned, and Hermione threw a quick _Stupefy_ over her shoulder with a nonchalance that made Draco smirk. She wasted no time in reaching down Draco's shirt and massaging the cool salve into his skin. He immediately felt the aching relax, though not entirely subside.

"Thank you," he said with no preamble.

Hermione appraised him for a beat, her expression unreadable. "You're welcome."

* * *

It didn't take long for Draco to recover enough to walk. He sent Hermione outside the warehouse, quickly _Obliviated_ the three Red Robes, then led the way out of town. They twisted through back alleys, Side-Along-Apparated through a few blockages and dead ends, and finally found themselves strolling beyond the town's borders into a series of jagged, rocky hills. They walked, for the most part, in silence.

The pair rounded a bend about fifteen minutes along their hillside trail. They were already proceeding cautiously, so neither was shocked when they ran into a shimmering, silver rabbit.

"You're quite slow," a familiar, floating voice mused from its mouth. "Keep on for a half a mile, and you'll find us. Don't worry, you'll see our signs." The rabbit disintegrated.

"What in the bloody—" Draco began.

"Luna," Hermione cut him off.

"Yeah, I gathered," he grumbled to himself and continued on. _Another blasted half mile. Merlin's saggy sack, this'll be the death of me._ He rubbed his shoulder and wondered, not for the first time, if his face could get stuck in a permanent the scowl.

Time was a merciful mistress, and Draco and Hermione reached the right cave quickly. Blaise had left obvious signs for Draco to see: sticks facing the direction they needed to travel in, branches broken in obvious, intentional ways, and piles of rocks that shone out of place in the in sunlight. It was a relief to know his scouting skills were still on point.

The bedraggled pair entered the cave, and chaos erupted. A dark form tackled Draco from behind and slammed him to the ground. Pain exploded through his shoulder. Colorful sparks flew at Hermione, but the witch dodged. Then, the air around her pulsed. A strong wind hit Draco in the chest. Next thing he knew, he was flying through the air, and amoment later, Draco slammed into the cave wall, pinned flat and unable to move.

"Bloody hell, you mental witch!" he groaned.

"Let me down!" a familiar voice struggled to his left.

"Blaise?" he asked. "What in the hell?"

"Ooh, this hurts, Hermione," another familiar voice from beyond his line of vision said calmly. That had to belong to Luna.

"Don't say anything until we have proof," Blaise commanded.

"Should I start asking her questions now? I'd rather she let us down first. Do you want to ask Draco things?"

"I'm not answering a damn thing from you two. Granger, let us—"

"Enough!" Hermione shouted. Draco felt a distinct constriction in his throat; she'd silenced him. "Explain yourselves, now."

Draco's eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the cave, and he could just make out Blaise's face. His mouth was working, but no sound came out.

"Ah, I see. You've silenced them but not me," said Luna. "Well, in that case, I need proof that you really are Hermione, Hermione. You could be an imposter, you see." Luna was as calm as if they were talking over afternoon tea, and Draco could feel Hermione's anger build.

"That's idiotic," she snapped.

Draco felt the spells on him release, and he tumbled to the cave floor. He stifled a groan as he felt Hermione's soft, but confident, hands direct him into a sitting position. She scrutinized him again and began muttering spells over him. His body flooded with warmth.

"It's not idiotic," he said after several long moments, and risking her ire. "Getting separated is always a risk. Better to be safe knowing who you're with is actually who you think they are."

"We received Luna's patronus," Hermione said, almost patronizing.

"That was a patronus you sent?" Blaise finally spoke up. "Luna, you have to tell me these things!"

"Why does it matter?" the frazzled blonde asked.

"Because a patronus only delivers to its target. You can't fool it with disguises or even polyjuice."

"That's correct, Blaise," Hermione confirmed in a tone that might've belonged in a first-year Transfiguration classroom. "That means that all of this," she spread her hands widely.

"—was entirely unnecessary. I'm sorry," Blaise finished, humbled. Turning to Draco, he added, "By the way, you look awful. What happened?"

Hermione recounted the story while Draco rested against the cave wall and brooded in silence. He was exhausted and aching head to toe, though most of his pain throbbed through his shoulder. He should've asked Hermione for more dittany salve, but part of him felt he deserved this pain. The weight of his ineptitude in the warehouse was starting to hit him. He should've anticipated the other caster. He should've known to throw up a shield first, then petrify the idiot at his feet after, who he'd already disabled. This mistake would mean precious time, which clearly they didn't have. The Red Robes had found them too quickly—but that was another problem to think about later. They had planned for this possibility, but it coming to fruition meant the rest of their trip would be far more difficult than he'd hoped.

When Hermione finished, Luna and Blaise took turns telling pieces of their much-less-thrilling adventure to the cave. Draco knew that soon the attention would turn back to him, and in fact Hermione's eyes had been darted to assess him every so often. She'd be analyzing his every movement to judge his wounds and mental state. The thought made Draco's stomach turn. They had both been caught in that warehouse, both had to fight the assailants, and Hermione even been trapped with their attackers and him unconscious. Yet, here she was, still putting him first. She didn't deserve this.

Draco pointed his wand at her pack. " _Accio_ dittany salve," he muttered, and the salve broke free and flew into his hand. He applied a thin layer of the coat to his shoulder, mimicking Hermione's actions from earlier, while her eyes narrowed at him. He wasn't sure if she understood, but she did turn her full attention back to Luna and Blaise. He felt the salve tingle on his skin, then penetrate deep into his shoulder. Just as it had in the warehouse, then pain eased up again. He rested his head against the wall of the cave and, powerless to resist, drifted off to sleep.


	20. Chapter 10a: Breaking

_September 1998—_

Life at Hogwarts had stabilized for Hermione in the weeks that followed her first real conversation with Malfoy. She continued to spend her meals and occasional evenings with Ginny, though most evenings she spent a couple hours in the library and then ended up in the Head common room with Padma and Ernie. She'd even had a few more short writing sessions with Malfoy. Her friendship with Padma was growing, and the two had begun confiding in each other little things when Ernie wasn't around. At the same time, Hermione was enjoying being around Ernie more and more, and he seemed to cast a lot of intimate smiles in her direction. This made both Ginny and Padma very probing and excitable, which in turn made Hermione flush with such regularity that she wondered if her head would turn into a giant beetroot.

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the term had finally arrived, and Hermione met up with Ginny at the queue in front of the castle, where Professor Slughorn was collecting signed permission forms and ticking off names of students ready to make the trek across the grounds. Both girls were of age in the wizarding world and no longer needed permission slips.

"Ah, Miss Granger! And Miss Weasley," Slughorn called to them cheerfully. "I have you both down—off you go! I'll be sending owls round for my next dinner party, so do look out for them." They smiled politely and thanked him, but Hermione inwardly groaned. She had not enjoyed being a part of the Slug Club in her sixth year, though Ron's jealousy was no small part as to why.

"Godric's grave, I hope we don't have to go to many more of those foul dinner parties," Ginny spat when they were out of earshot. "He's probably beside himself with our connections to Harry at this point."

"I don't want to think about it," Hermione groaned aloud this time.

"Though, he'll probably invite Ernie Macmillan along, don't you think? I seem to remember him being a part of the club before."

"Oh, shut it! We are right now headed to meet Harry and Ron for half the day, and you _cannot_ be going on about Ernie the whole time."

"Half the day?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah! You're big meet up with him!"

Hermione groaned again. She was excited to spend some time with Ernie one-on-one, but she was dreading the way Ron would react. Her last letter from him had been short and wanting. She remembered every word of it, which wasn't really an impressive feat.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Glad to hear you got Head Girl. Congrats! Knew Old McGonagall would pick you! Auror training is pretty rough, and Harry is better at it than me. I'm doing well with the practical exams, but the written portions, well, let's just say nothing's changed since school. Hope you're having fun in the library without us. I might tag along to Hogsmeade when Harry meets up with Ginny._

 _Yours,_

 _Ron Weasley_

Yes, he had even signed his last name, as if she might get confused about which "Ron" were writing to her. Would it even phase him to learn she had a date lined up for today? If you could call it a date, that is. Hermione couldn't decide whether the idea of him being upset or him being indifferent were worse. Either way, she wasn't looking forward to finding out.

"Let's talk about something else," Hermione said. "What do you plan on doing with Harry?"

"You mean Harry _and Ron_? Well, that's a rather good question. I'm hoping we can ditch Ron for a while when we visit George so we can have some time alone together."

"Yeah, Ron'll love that," Hermione said dryly. "You'd think after all this time he'd get used to seeing you two together."

"Actually, he didn't seem to care much about anything over the summer. I'm kind of hoping he's back to his usual groaning and moaning self."

They chatted all the way to the Three Broomsticks and found Harry and Ron already seated at a round table off to the side with four butterbeers. Hugs were exchanged all around and, though Ron stiffened a bit when Hermione hugged him, he seemed to have some of the usual color back in his cheeks.

"Tell us all about your training!" Hermione demanded.

"It's bloody brilliant," said Ron. "You really feel like you're doing something, y'know? We're learning all sorts of jinxes and counter-curses, but it's a lot of physical training, too."

Ron talked more than Hermione or Ginny had heard in months. He told them all about their weekly schedule, their drills and exams, their fellow trainees, the Aurors that the girls didn't already know from the Order, and their instructors. Harry added tidbits here and there, but for the most part let Ron talk. He raised his eyebrows suggestively and flashed a subtle smile Hermione's way. She understood Harry's meaning perfectly, and she too found herself smiling broadly to have this much of the old Ron back. It felt like things had been before, sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room or huddled together in Ron's room at the Burrow before it had been destroyed. Things felt normal, and Merlin knows Hermione needed more normal back in her life. But the conversation took a turn before Hermione was ready for it.

"Enough about us," Ron said. "Tell us about this common room you're sharing with _Malfoy!_ Of all people, what was McGonagall thinking?"

"Actually, it's been fine with Malfoy," Hermione said, and both Harry and Ron's mouths fell open. "Oh, stop it, you know he's been through a lot too. He keeps to himself mostly. I don't think the Slytherins are very fond of him."

"That's disconcerting," Harry interjected. "That sounds like our sixth year when he was working on the vanishing cabinet."

"Yeah, you better be careful, Hermione," Ron added in, and his eyes grew dark. "We've all changed from the war, but I don't think Malfoy'll ever turn good."

"At least he's leaving her alone," Ginny offered. "It's true he keeps to himself, but I dunno. He doesn't exactly look like he's bitter or plotting. He just looks pathetic, really."

Harry scoffed, but Ron grinned with a distant, satisfied look in his eyes. "Hold on, I want to imagine Malfoy dejected and pathetic," he announced.

"The common room is pretty amazing, though," Hermione changed the subject. It's not as big as the Gryffindor common room, but it's huge for four of us." She described the common room and layout of their rooms at length, answering tons of questions from Ron and a couple from Harry. Ginny had heard most of it already, but seemed happy to listen along. After a while, Ginny got up to buy them another round of butterbeer, but returned to the table with three glasses plus Ernie Macmillan in tow. He was carrying an extra chair and two more glasses, which he thunked down on the table beside Hermione.

"Ernie!" Harry greeted him and clapped him on the back. "It's been too long!"

Ron shook Ernie's hand while eyeing him up and down. "Blimey, you look different, mate," Ron said at last.

Ernie flushed lightly. "Yeah, I suppose I grew a bit since we last met."

"A bit? Bloody hell, you're as tall as me now!"

"Oh, come off it! Just a late bloomer I guess." Ernie let out a roaring laugh and seated himself in the chair he'd wedged in between Ginny and Hermione. He smiled warmly at Hermione, half-hugged her from his chair, and pointed to her butterbeer. "Your drink as promised," he grinned, and his eyes danced over her smiling face. From the side, Hermione saw Ron's complexion darken a shade.

"I'll consider your debt repaid," she said lightly.

"Oh no no! I owed you a drink and a brand-new quill, and I plan on fully making good." Ernie turned to Harry and Ron. "She got me out of a tight spot in Potions on our first day, but Hogwarts has got to be rather boring to you two at this point, eh?"

Harry and Ron exchanged blank looks.

"Training as Aurors, I mean—wow!"

"Oh right," Harry jumped in. He recounted a brief version of their training for Ernie, who listened eagerly while draining his butterbeer.

"Well, not so much has changed for us," Ernie began.

 _"Us?"_ Hermione saw Harry mouth to Ginny, who shrugged her shoulders slightly. Ernie seemed not to notice, as he was too busy retelling everything Hermione had just said about their common room, then continued to describe his schedule and each of his classes. Hermione added some side commentary on the variances between schedules, thinking that highlighting their time apart might be a good thing. Somehow, she ended up making it sound like she spent a lot more time with Ernie than she did, but she didn't know how to correct it without sounding obvious. It didn't help that Ginny was eyeing them and smirking at Harry when she thought no one else was watching.

Then, the moment Hermione was dreading came. As soon as she took the last swig of her butterbeer, Ernie asked her hopefully, "Well, should we get going?"

"Get going where?" Ron asked, shock splayed across his face. Hermione nearly choked on her butterbeer and started coughing loudly. Ron patted her back.

"It's like I said," Ernie's voice was hesitant, and his eyes darted between her and Ron, "I owe Hermione a quill. I promised her I'd buy any one she picked out."

"Oh, right, yes." Ron said darkly.

"Er, you want to come along, mate?" Ernie asked, still sounding uncertain.

"No," Ron said as he crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione had the sudden urge to vomit, and she realized she'd been clenching her stomach and holding her breath for the past minute. She cast Ginny a pathetic look and rose to her feet.

"Alright, well. I s'pose we'll see you in a bit then?" Ernie said.

"Yeah, alright," Ron said flatly.

Ernie turned and started off but glanced over his shoulder at Hermione as if he were checking whether she would follow him.

"We won't take long," Hermione said, too quickly. "It's like he said, you see. He promised to buy me a quill, and he insisted that I pick it out for myself. It'd be nice to have a new quill, you know. I mean, I've been taking a lot of notes—"

"Go on!" Ginny encouraged her. "We'll be fine without you for a few minutes, won't we, Ron?"

Ron nodded, but refused to meet anyone's eyes. He stared intently at the last bit of butterbeer in his mug.

"We're headed to see George, anyway," Ginny continued. "We'll meet you there in a little while, but I want to go to the new broomstick shop first!"

Ron perked up a bit at that, and Hermione quickly waved and made her way out. Ernie was waiting for her patiently outside, a pensive look on his face.

"Ready?" he asked her.

"Yeah, let's go," she said, feeling dejected. Seeing the shock on Ron's face made her feel far more dreadful than she'd imagined.

"Say, Hermione... There's nothing... I mean to say that, er, I'm not... stepping on any, er, toes or anything asking you out, am I?"

"No!" Hermione knew how unconvincing she sounded. "It's just..." she stopped and turned to face Ernie. "Look, there may have something between Ron and me once, but nothing ever happened. He's just not the same since his brother died."

"His brother? Blimey, I had no idea. Which one?"

"Fred. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

"No," Ernie hung his head. "He was a good bloke. That's just awful."

"Look, let's just enjoy ourselves, shall we? Honestly, I could do with a bit of fun."

Ernie grinned and took her hand. "I think a bit of quill shopping and a trip to the bookstore is in order for you then, Miss Granger!"

The next hour passed by in a blissful flash. She and Ernie looked at all the quills in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, ogling the more expensive ones and laughing at the dramatic, frilly ones that Hermione could only imagine in the taloned hands of Rita Skeeter. In the end, she settled on a graceful pheasant quill with a delicate silver nib. The test quill glided pleasantly over the parchment, though she had to admit it felt nowhere near as wonderful as her Twinned Quill. Professor Flitwick had told her about many incantations for Twinned Quills, including one that would make it function like a normal quill in her hand until she reversed it, but she blushed at the thought of using the quill in any of her classes, especially the ones she shared with Malfoy. This new quill would make an excellent substitute.

Next, the pair made their way to the new Flourish and Blotts shop in Hogsmeade, which had taken a page out of the Weasleys' book and opened up a secondary location while their original one in Diagon Alley was being rebuilt. It was small and cramped, with crooked shelves overloaded with books in every size and color. The organizational method was an abstract, living art form that the employees couldn't even keep proper track of. Hermione and Ernie roamed the shelves for almost an hour, and they both ended up purchasing three new books.

"Please let me pay for one of your books," Hermione begged Ernie. "The quill was too expensive. I'll get this one for you." She slipped a green text labeled _Rune Cracking: A Cutting-Edge Art_ out from under his arm and added it to her stack on the counter.

"All right, but that's my most expensive book. Here, I'll pay for this one of yours, and we'll call it even." He snatched a small purple and black journal from her stack and held it high in the air. Hermione huffed and shot Ernie a mock-dirty glare, knowing the futility of trying to snatch at it.

Outside, Ernie made a show of presenting the book to her, doffing an imaginary cap, bending low, and even proffering a "m'lady" from his repertoire. Hermione reciprocated with a sarcastic "my liege" as they traded tomes. They wandered down a back street in the general direction of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with their arms linked, book parcels in their free hands, and matching broad grins on their faces.

In a few minutes, they reached the back of the shop and squeezed into the small alley alongside the building that led round to the front. Ernie suddenly stopped, and Hermione, arm still linked to his, didn't register the change in momentum quickly enough to avoid getting yanked backwards a step. She dropped her book parcel, but caught it by the wrapping string inches before it hit the ground. She looked up at Ernie, who had a funny look on his face. His eyes were scrunched up and distant, as if he were solving a difficult arithmancy problem in his head.

"What's up?" she asked him.

"Look, I don't think your friends want me to join you in there." Hermione tried to protest, but Ernie cut her off. "No, I'm sure they want to catch up with you, and I really don't mind. Tell them I enjoyed seeing them earlier, though, would you?"

"Yeah, of course I will. Are you sure?"

Ernie nodded. "This was a lot of fun. You're an incredible woman, Hermione. I hope we can do this more often."

She felt the heat radiating from her cheeks. "Thank you for the quill. And the book!" she grinned up at him. His face was suddenly very close to hers. Her mind went blank, and she became very conscious of her breathing.

"Don't forget the butterbeer," he whispered, and he closed the last few inches between them. His lips were delightfully soft on hers, and his free hand crept up through her wild curls, lightly cradling the back of her head. Hermione felt her lips part, and his tongue flicked tentatively against hers. She could easily get lost in his kiss, and her mind started to tingle wonderfully with pleasure.

 _BANG!_

Hermione and Ernie jumped apart at the sound, and she whirled around. Ron stood at the end of the alley, his face an alarming shade of red. He stood rooted to the floor next to a dropped box of empty bottles, eyes locked on Ernie and shaking. Hermione edged her way out of the narrow alley entrance and tried to smile at Ron, though she was sure she looked sickly. She felt like she was about to get sick, too.

"Ron?"

No answer.

"Ronald?" she tried again. "Are you okay?"

He neither responded nor acknowledged her presence. Ernie squeezed out of the alley behind Hermione, assessing Ron with a troubled look.

"Everything alright there, mate?" he asked. His words seemed to activate Ron, who sprung into motion. He decked Ernie square in the nose. Cartilage crunched with a sickening _crraaaacckk_ , and blood spurted everywhere. Ernie reeled, Hermione screamed, and Ron whirled around and stomped back into the shop, almost pushing over a pair of young girls who were making their way out at precisely the wrong moment. People passing by on the street had stopped to stare, and they were now whispering loudly and pointing in Hermione's direction. She heard snippets like "girl from the Golden Trio" and "helped defeat You-Know-Who" and "punched him right in the nose." Hermione ignored them.

"Ernie! Are you okay?"

Ernie tried to nod, but moving his head just sent more blood rushing out his nose.

"Here, let me fix it." Hermione moved his hands out of the way. " _Episky!_ "

There was a loud snap, and the blood flowing from his nose stopped immediately. He wiggled the bridge of his nose back and forth experimentally, and relief flooded his face.

"Thanks," he whispered, but at that moment he caught sight of his hands covered in his own blood and frowned. "I think I need to clean up," he said as he surveyed his badly soaked jumper. Hermione casted a quick _tergeo_ followed by a _scourgify_ to make his walk back to Hogwarts a bit easier. A lot more effort would be needed to get the blood completely out of his clothes, though.

"I'm so sorry, Ernie. I don't know what's gotten into him! He's been acting horribly for months, but it seemed like he was back to his usual self again today."

"I think I have a fair idea what's wrong." Ernie smiled ruefully. "Listen, we can talk later tonight in the common room. Don't worry, I'm fine. You go on ahead and talk to him." Hermione was shaking her head, but he pressed on. "I promise, it's okay! Look, I'll see you later, and we'll sort this out." Ernie smiled again at her subverted protests and turned to leave.

"Oh, Hermione," he said over his shoulder. "Try not to kill the poor bloke. Realizing he's missed his chance with you has got to be a much worse blow than the one he gave me." With that, Ernie walked away as a pale, stunned Hermione stood frozen and quite alone on the crowded street.

* * *

The top of the astronomy tower was bathed in near darkness. Out the window, stars dotted the sky. Hagrid's hut gave off a soft glow through the gaps in his curtained windows, but the rest of the view was blackness. No moon hung in the sky, and the wind had an unforgiving bite to it. Hermione stood alone, gazing into the pitch-black expanse and letting her thoughts consume her.

As soon as Ernie left Hogsmeade, Hermione went chasing after Ron. Instead, she found Ginny very red-faced and Harry looking rather confused. Ron was nowhere to be seen, having apparated away moments before. George alone seemed to be collected. He offered Hermione a tight hug and a dashing smile before wandering off to tend his customers. Once again, it seemed, Ron was ignoring her. She stayed a while longer with Ginny and Harry, but ended up heading back to Hogwarts early. She then spent the rest of the afternoon and evening alone with her thoughts, finally winding her way up to the Astronomy tower to watch the sunset. Had Ron thought there was still more between them? Had he assumed she felt the same? If he had bothered to speak to her over the summer, she knew she would have felt more for him. His continued silence, though, had left a hole in her heart, which was already empty with the possible loss of her parents. So much unknown was eating away at Hermione. How could Ron not realize that? Was he so consumed by his own grief that he couldn't even see or care for hers?

The night continued to deepen, and Hermione knew that loitering in the tower all night would do her no good. She made her way down the winding steps and across the castle to the materializing stained glass door. The common room was empty, but the fire was blazing brightly. She wondered whether one of the others had just recently gone to bed, or if the fire were kept blazing for her. Either way, it was a small stroke of luck that she had no one to deal with that night.

"Thank Merlin," she murmured to the empty room and made her way straight up her red staircase.

Once inside her room, Hermione seated herself at her desk, pulled out her new quill and journal, and began to write.

 _This new journal is dedicated towards reflections of my seventh year at Hogwarts. The pages that follow are intended for myself alone, and woe be to any other uninvited readers who think they can peruse these pages and get away unscathed. If you haven't received my permission to continue, set this down volume and stop now. If you choose not to, what will happen to you is your own fault. You are forewarned._

Hermione skipped over the next page. She'd already created one entry that she would affix to this page later. Of course, she had jinxed her journal, much like she had jinxed the Dumbledore's Army signup sheet three years ago. She took her privacy very seriously, and this was her only means of feeling comfortable in writing her inner-most thoughts on paper. Hermione re-dipped her quill, then began a new entry.

 _I seem to be as boy crazy as any of the giggling girls I usually despise these days. Ron is mad at me, Ernie is probably avoiding me, and Malfoy can't stop writing to me. It's all idiotic. The only thing I want to do is get through this year and find my parents. What good is the end of the war when you have no family to share it with?_

Hermione stopped. This was a true problem for her, she realized. The war couldn't and wouldn't be over for her until this piece of her life were sorted out. She continued to write.

 _I am beginning to feel like I should ignore everyone and allow myself to be alone. Those who are worth it will continue rallying to my aid. Those who are not will dwindle away, and fate will be decided. If I'm really to follow through with this, I'll have to be prepared to accept the consequences first, which I'm not yet sure I'm ready to do._

 _HJG_

Loneliness crept into Hermione's heart so quickly that she wandered over to her trunk and collected a ginger mound of fur. Crookshanks had moved a pillow there and curled up right on top. He fidgeted in her arms but gave in when she nestled him into the crook of her arm. Then, on impulse, she collected the blue journal tucked away beneath her spare potion supplies.

Hermione returned to her desk chair with Crookshanks in her lap. From within her center desk drawer, she withdrew the elegant, sapphire quill. Holding the grip firmly, Hermione whispered the incantation that Professor Flitwick had taught her to initiate the connection between the Twinned Quills.

" _Incipio implexis_."

Then, she wrote her first message onto a fresh page in the blue journal, which would transcribe on Draco's end when he next used his quill. Under Professor Flitwick's quick instruction, Hermione learned that the Twinned Quills are paired to their respective owners on the first simultaneous use. The connection will then remain, and the quills will only respond to their owners, until forcefully broken. After that, the quills could be used to convey messages whether both parties were using their quills at the same time, almost like an answering machine. Or, you could just wait for the other person to pick up the quill at the same time as you to complete the connection, as Draco had done with her so far.

 _'Are you awake?'_ she wrote, then added, _'(Saturday night, approx. 11:30 p.m.).'_

 _'Good evening, Miss Prim and Proper,'_ came the reply a few minutes later. Hermione scowled. Why was she even bothering with Malfoy?

 _'If you were asleep, wouldn't it be useful to know when the message was written?'_ she wrote back.

 _'Asleep before midnight? Really?'_

 _'Yes, well, I'd love to be asleep right now. And I know it's Saturday.'_

 _'For once, I can't argue with that.'_ They both had trouble sleeping, she knew. When Hermione didn't reply for several minutes, her quill began scratching on its own again. _'Did you want to talk about something, or is my delightful company growing on you? I can only imagine that any correspondence above a first-year level is a treat for you after spending so much time with Pottyhead and the Weasel.'_

 _'You're one to talk. Or, did you forget how much time you spent with Cra—'_ Hermione stopped mid-word. For an instant, she had forgotten that Vincent Crabbe was dead, killed by his own _fiendfyre_. _'I'm so sorry,'_ she wrote instead.

 _'Don't be.'_

 _'That was thoughtless of me.'_

 _'It doesn't matter.'_

 _'Yes, it does. He was your friend. I shouldn't have said that.'_

 _'And he shouldn't have cast a spell he couldn't control. That idiot nearly killed all of us, in case you've forgotten.'_

 _'How can you think like that?'_

 _'How can you not? Plus, shouldn't you be defending your dearly beloved right now, not pining over a lost cause?'_

 _'He isn't my dearly beloved,'_ Hermione wrote, allowing the pain to etch lines across her face once again.

 _'Trouble in paradise, then? Is that why you wanted to talk? Sorry, but I couldn't begin to understand the infantile mind of that freckled mockery of a wizard.'_

 _'You're pathetic, Malfoy.'_

 _'Struck a nerve, have I? Did the Weasel King dump you?'_

 _'No, he didn't dump me! We were never together to begin with.'_

 _'What? Were you with Potter then? Wait, no... I heard he's with the Weaselette. What's the problem then?'_

 _'None of your business.'_

 _'So, it was just my company you were missing.'_

 _'Get over yourself. Why do I even bother with you?'_

 _'Because you've realized I'm an actual person, and it surprises and intrigues you.'_

Hermione's eyes widened. Malfoy was more perceptive than she gave him credit for, even if his arrogance over it made her choke. It also had not escaped her notice that, through some sick twist in fate, she had more in common with Malfoy just then than anyone else. They both had returned to Hogwarts without their friends, felt isolated and alone while surrounded by a sea of people, had been destined to be Heads but no longer yearned for the honor or accomplishment, had abandoned school last year and were now desperately trying to find normalcy through it, were unsure how much longer they'd have any family left, were drowning in their lives' uncertainties, and were plagued with attention-drawing scars and dreams of torture. This, above all else, was why she kept writing to him, and it probably was the true reason he kept writing to her.

 _'I thought you were trying,'_ she finally replied. It was Malfoy's turn to pause.

 _'Okay, you win. Tell me what's wrong.'_

 _'If you must know, it is Ron. Don't gloat. He's spent the past months ignoring me, and just when I thought he was snapping out of it, he's back at ignoring me in full force. It's not really his fault. He's been grieving over Fred, but I've been grieving, too. I don't understand why he can't see that.'_

 _'I was right, he is a pathetic git.'_

 _'Oh, very funny. Joke's on me for believing you were serious in wanting to help.'_

 _'I am serious. He lost one brother, but how many others does he have?'_

 _'You are sick. Don't ever make jokes like that again, or I will stop this right now and snap your bloody quill in half. It doesn't matter how many brothers you have when you lose someone.'_

 _'No, you're wrong. Calm down you maniac and think about it, like that feckless git should have. He is literally surrounded by family and support. You have only Muggle parents who probably don't understand anything you tell them, if you even tell them anything at all about our world. You were tortured and marred by that insane, dead aunt of mine, and all he suffered were a few scratches and hours in a cell. Yes, he lost a brother, but we've all lost people—on both sides. He doesn't get to treat you like dirt because he can't handle a bit of heartache. Plus, he still had you and the Chosen Prat there the whole time. Even now you're making excuses for him and being your usual, too-understanding self. And somehow, he thinks his suffering is worth more than anyone else's. Like I said, a pathetic git.'_

As much as Hermione hated to admit it, Malfoy had a point hidden in that tactless rant. But he was wrong, she didn't have her parents anymore. Tears began to fall freely down her cheeks. She found herself writing back, unsure what she would even say until the letters formed.

 _'I might not have parents anymore. I modified their memories last year. They've moved across the world and don't know I exist or that they ever had a daughter. I had to; it was the only way to keep them safe.'_

 _'He knows this, too?'_

 _'Yes.'_

 _'Can't it be undone?'_

 _'I don't know. I won't know until I've found them and tried. McGonagall thinks I should wait till next summer, when I've sat my N.E.W.T.s and everything here has calmed down.'_

 _'She's right, you know.'_

 _'Yes, I know. But that doesn't really help, you see. I have no parents, Ron won't speak to me, Harry and Ginny try, but they are so wrapped up in each other, and I just feel so... out of place, I guess. Go ahead—laugh.'_

 _'Laugh? Yeah, I guess that fair. I probably would've before. I know what it's like to feel alone, though. And, I know exactly what it's like to be uncertain whether you'll lose your parents.'_

Hermione didn't respond. She knew from his letter that Narcissa Malfoy was drowning in sorrow and regret. She also knew that Lucius Malfoy was awaiting trial in Azkaban. What could be said to comfort either of them? She was spared trying when Malfoy came up with the answer for her, and the quill drafted one last line in his neat, angular script.

 _'Hermione... I'm sorry.'_


	21. Chapter 10b: Breaking

_May 2003—_

Draco awoke to bright lights and an empty cave. Judging by the amount of sunshine outside, it must have been approaching midday. How long had he been asleep? He sat up and coughed; his shoulder and neck protested loudly. Voices echoed out towards him from deeper in the cave, and Draco groaned, holding his head. With effort, he rose and braced himself on the side of the cave with his good arm. He lit his wand and followed the voices.

About 50 feet in, Draco came upon his companions. He heard Hermione first.

"What part of a circle don't you understand?" Her voice had a shrill edge to it, which made Draco smirk. It was nice to hear her focusing her attacks on someone besides him.

"I'm sure we'll find a nice, circular area in this cave, Hermione. This is exactly like a cave Daddy and I stayed in once when we were studying woovles, and it had a large, circular cavern right at its heart, just like you want."

Draco rounded the corner and could see Hermione rubbing her temples. "Luna," she said through gritted teeth, "caves are not like flats. One cave reminding you of another does _not_ mean they'll have similar floor plans. This is madness! I've already laid protection in the main cavern, so its safe there— _where Draco is_. Now please, let's get back to him before he wakes."

"Ooh, Hermione, just a bit further. I know it's up ahead."

"Luna, it doesn't matter! Leave it!"

"Draco will be fine. I know you're worried about him, but he'll wake in no time. He didn't have a single wrackspurt around him."

"Blaise! Deal with her. I'm going back." Hermione turned abruptly and stormed in his direction. She was muttering to herself and had murder in her eyes. Draco couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. At that exact moment, Hermione looked up and locked eyes with him.

"Something funny?!" she practically screamed at him.

Draco did his best to stand completely still as the smile slid off his face. It took a bit of effort, since his balance hadn't yet returned to him, though he doubted she'd appreciate that.

"Well," she continued without waiting for an answer, "clearly you're just fine, and I'm wasting my breath over nothing." She scowled. "I'm still going back," she called over her shoulder and continued down the path he'd just come from. Draco watched her until she turned the corner out of sight.

Blaise and Luna were talking softly at the other end of the cave. Luna had an open smile on her face, and Blaise held a sly grin as he traced patterns on the cave wall. Their heads were close together, and their voices were too low to carry to Draco's ears. Their tone and body language was enough. Draco rolled his eyes and decided that, between that sickening duo and a fire-breathing dragon, he'd take the wyrm any day. He aboutfaced and made his way back out after Hermione.

Walking as slowly as he was to keep his arm and shoulder steady, it took Draco several minutes to get back to the entrance. Hermione had already conjured up a pile of blue flames and a stack of books from somewhere. She was reading intently and ignoring the world. He took a seat across from her wordlessly.

"What do you want?" She asked without looking up.

"A place to sit and distance from twit and twat in there. Same as you, I reckon."

"Luna's my friend," she said icily.

"And?"

"You could show some respect."

Draco scoffed.

"You know, I'm sick of your shit. Someone has to figure out a plan. If you're not here to help, then leave."

"Relax," he said. He couldn't help his jaw tightening, but he kept his tone steady. "We have a plan already."

"Clearly not," she spat back. "If we were found that easily, then the plan isn't good enough."

"No plan is good enough," he said evenly.

"No plan of _yours_ , maybe."

"My plans are just fine!" Draco knew he shouldn't let her get a rise out of him, but he couldn't help it. She knew all the right buttons to push.

"Oh yeah? Then explain all of this to me," her voice was shrill, and she gestured at the cave entrance, "if your plans are so good!"

"Obviously, it's a trace!" he shouted back at her. "They've locked onto one of us, and three guesses which one."

"This isn't Luna's fault!"

"I'm not blaming your batty friend!"

"She's your friend, too!"

"She _was!_ " Draco shouted then balked, every bit as startled by his words as was Hermione. When he began again, his voice was soft. "I mean—it's been a long time."

"Time doesn't change friendship, Draco," Hermione said quietly, with an understanding in her voice that grated his nerves.

"Doesn't it?" he asked.

Hermione looked at him, eyes wide. She opened her mouth to reply when laughter echoed from the cave behind her. She shut her mouth and closed her eyes as Blaise and Luna erupted into the room in a fit of giggles.

"Draco," Blaise gasped, out of breath, "you've got to hear this story Luna tells about—"

"I don't care," Draco cut in. His tone was ice. "If you two are done playing fools, there's work to be done. Or perhaps Hermione and my near death this morning wasn't enough for you to take things seriously yet."

Blaise looked completely taken aback. "No, mate, we're here to help," he said slowly. "What can we do?"

"Prepare the brooms," Draco commanded as he got to his feet, then added in an undertone. "And keep your idiot girlfriend quiet."

"That's out of line," Blaise hissed at him, grabbing him by the arm as he passed. "What's gotten into you?" he asked so that only Draco could hear.

"Leave it," Draco hissed in reply.

"Fat chance, after a comment like that."

"I said, leave it!" Draco raised his voice causing both Hermione and Luna to look up. Luna had joined Hermione by the fire and was humming to herself. He cleared his throat and stalked off to prepare his broom. Blaise stormed off in the other direction. Draco's shoulder still ached, so he tested it while he worked. They had to be ready to fly soon, or they'd never stay on schedule. The sooner this trip was over, the better.

* * *

"Give me a minute," Hermione said, rummaging through her backpack.

"Granger, it's time to go," Draco replied with every ounce of patience he could muster.

"Just one more minute!" she called over her shoulder. She was now arms-deep in her backpack pretending to search for something. Draco sighed through his teeth. She'd already delayed them looking for a hat, then mittens, then switched them to gloves, then searched for a scarf, then changed to a warmer scarf, and now was looking for something Draco didn't bother to track.

"Why don't you do a lap," he instructed Blaise, who nodded.

"Ready, Luna?" Blaise asked as he kicked them lightly off the ground. She cooed appreciatively, and a chuckle escaped Draco's unwilling lips. "Hold tight, but pay attention to my body weight. You'll want to shift—" The last bit of Blaise's instructions were lost to the wind as he and Luna rose out of Draco's earshot.

"Granger," he called again. He saw her head twitch, but she didn't reply. He sighed again and dismounted his own broom, then approached and crouched in front of her. "Hermione," he tried again, and she looked up. "It's time."

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded. She tied her bag and held it against her chest, looping the straps over her shoulders like a baby carrier.

Draco nodded to her and guided her over to the broom. He saw her shaking ever so slightly as she mounted, then he slid in place behind her.

"I wasn't delaying," she mumbled. "Proper attire is important in the air. We'll be traveling a long distance, and there's nothing but windchill at that height."

Draco hummed his agreement and kicked off from the ground. He pretended to ignore her little squeal and hovered a couple of yards up. "You'll need to use your body weight—" he began, but she cut him off.

"I know how to fly," Hermione said with a huff.

"Of course you do," he scoffed, about to lose the little patience he had. "But you haven't flown with me, so you'll follow my instructions anyway. Any more interruptions?" Draco could feel her roll her eyes. "Good. You'll need to use your body weight in mirror to mine so there's no resistance. I fly for speed and agility, even on a travel broom, which will feel different than recreational flying. Pay attention and go with any direction I give, even if you're uncomfortable. Understood?"

"I'm not a child, Malfoy. Stop treating me like one."

"I'm not."

Hermione laughed sardonically, so Draco talked right over her. "In _this_ situation, you're a novice. You may be brilliant at everything else, but this is not your area of expertise."

"Oh, and it's yours?"

"Yes. And you know it."

It took a few seconds for Hermione to respond, but she finally mustered up a curt, "Fine," and let Draco continue. He took them higher in stages and had her practice leaning with him into left and right turns, then basic dips and climbs. He continued this until he felt her body relax and settle into his by a small fraction, which he figured was phenomenal progress for her first flight in half a decade.

Draco swerved and signaled to Blaise, who had gotten the picture and was giving them a wide berth while distracting Luna. (Her coos floated back to them every so often when the wind blew just right.) Then, they were off.

The first several minutes of the journey was extremely tense, even after the practice maneuvers. Draco could feel the stiffness in every inch of Hermione's body, which he knew she'd regret later. She'd have to relax, or they'd never make it the whole distance he'd charted for the day.

"Tell me about this spell," Draco asked with no preamble. Fortunately, Hermione needed none when it came to giving instruction.

"It's fairly basic, actually," she began. "I spent time studying protection and deflection spells years ago during the war. I, er—" Hermione hesitated but forged on, "—I think I told you about how we used them when we were on the run."

"You did."

"Yes, well, it occurred to me that recasting the spells constantly in every new location was tedious, and it would be so convenient to attach the spell to an object, like a house or a tent. There are spells with similar properties, like the Secret Keeper spells."

Draco smiled to himself as she prattled on. It really was a complex bit of magic, tying protection and deflection spells to their broomsticks so they could fly undetected, but he'd perfectly understood it when they discussed the idea earlier in the cave. Nothing put Hermione at ease like lecturing, though. He devoted half of his mind to following her tirade of knowledge, but he split off the other half and let it soar with the winds. There was little else in this world Draco had found as exhilarating as flying. The eddies in the air whipped about them, tussling his usually immaculate hair. They'd dressed in Muggle clothes, since the towns they'd planned to touch down in were Muggle towns, but he still enjoyed the way the wind whipped through his jacket. Hermione had tied back her hair as tightly as was possible, but even her stray curls whipping his face were enjoyable. Yes, Draco was perfectly happy in the air.

As they flew, Draco and Blaise rotated positions every quarter hour. Their method was so well-practiced that neither had to think about the action. After the tenth rotation, Blaise waived back to Draco, then motioned two signals to him: descend and food. It was time for lunch. He snaked his arm around Hermione's waist and held her firmly against him so that she could feel him shifting. In truth, he'd expected her to protest (he wasn't wrong), but it was the easiest way he knew to help them move as one and land with some measure of grace. It wasn't until they touched ground and he heard Hermione gasp that he realized she'd been trying to hold her breath. He made a mental note to remind her to breathe on their next landing.

Lunch for the foursome was short and uneventful. Luna talked about birds and imaginary insects while Blaise and Hermione feigned interest. (Though, Draco was fairly sure Blaise was sincere more than half the time.) Draco ate his meal in agreeable silence. They flew for a few more hours, stopped to stretch, then finished their trek for the day.

On the last leg, Hermione talked casually about the different spells she was working on, the cases she'd handled recently, and her theories on the different magical cultures throughout Europe. Draco did his best to be an engaging partner in the conversation, but mostly, he flew, chasing the horizon.

It was dusk when they touched down for the night, opting not to fly without natural light. They found rooms in the Muggle town of Saarbrucken and settled in—Luna and Hermione in one room and Blaise and Draco in an adjoining one. At about nine o'clock, Draco heard a knock on their inner door.

"Yes, m'lady?" Blaise asked, swooping a ridiculous bow as he answered their adjoining door.

Luna giggled. "Would you two like to join Hermione and me for a round of drinks in the hotel bar? We may be stuck in this Muggle hotel, but Hermione tells me that Muggle alcohol is quite good."

"An adventure worthy of royalty!" Blaise exclaimed. "Come, Draco, our services are required."

"No," Draco said flatly.

"But, my liege!" Blaise cried, waiving his arms towards Luna. "She insists!"

Draco scowled, and at that moment, Hermione peaked through the doorway. She was dressed in jeans and a maroon jumper, and she'd let her hair down but tamed it a bit after their long flight. It fell around her face and shoulders in honey-brown curls.

Hermione cocked her head and grinned at Draco. "Don't worry about him, Blaise. If he wants to come, he will. If he doesn't, we probably wouldn't want him either." She winked at Blaise and threw her arm around Luna's shoulders. She looked back at Draco and just waited.

Blaise looked between Draco and Hermione with a slack jaw. Apparently, he'd never seen anyone treat his friend's will so causally. Luna was inspecting her necklace, which Draco was fairly sure she'd strung out of dried radishes.

"Fine," he gave in and summoned a blazer from across the room. "One drink."

Hermione chuckled and lead the way. After all, what harm could come of one drink?

What harm, indeed.


	22. Chapter 11a: Hiding

_October 1998—_

September stretched on into October, and still Hermione heard nothing from Ron. Her classes and copious studying continued uninhibited. The leaves turned colors slowly at first, then all at once. Rain became a frequent companion, and most students spent their time in common rooms or nooks throughout the castle in favor of roaming the grounds. Muddy, sodden quidditch players became a usual sight, which kept Ginny's mood dark and volatile. Once, Hermione even had to disarm her friend to stop her from hexing a Slytherin boy in her year that passed by singing a modified version of "Weasley Is Our King." Hermione didn't catch the full verse, but she couldn't imagine a good ending to, "Baby Weasel wants to play, with all the big boys gone away." To occupy herself, Hermione spent most of her spare time in the library reading everything she could.

"You're going to lose your eyesight," Padma told her one afternoon when she (yet again) refused an invitation to join up with a group of girls from their year.

"Don't be silly," said Hermione, and she bustled off to the comforting rows of books. She needed to keep busy.

The afternoon stretched too quickly into night, and Hermione was shocked when she looked up to dark corridors and black windows. The library wasn't closed yet, but she hurried back towards the Head common room just in case. She nearly ran smack into Ginny along the way.

"Gin, what on earth are you doing here?" Hermione asked. "I thought you had quid—"

"Don't say it! Say that word, and I'll gouge your eyes out with my wand, _the Muggle way_."

"Okay…" she hesitated. Clearly Ginny was in a fantastic mood. "Can I, er, help you with anything?"

"Yes," Ginny huffed. "Take me to your common room where I won't be surrounded by morons."

"Oh, you know I would," Hermione pleaded. "It's just that we agreed no visitors yet. We haven't met to talk about who would be allowed in."

"We can sneak in! They won't even know I'm there."

Hermione eyed her, eyebrow raised. "You're about as quiet and subtle as a randy peacock at a black and white party."

"Hermione," she whined, "just take me!"

"I'm sorry, I can't. Let's just go to the Gryffindor common room and kick everyone out. You always like that!"

"FINE." Ginny stomped off and left Hermione to scramble after with her arms full of books.

The theatrics turned out to be unnecessary. The common room was nearly empty, and anyone who even knew how to _spell_ to quidditch was giving Ginny a wide berth.

"Everything's gone to shit," Ginny complained when they'd finally settled in front of the fire. "I've got two Beaters that can't aim worth a damn, Chasers that barely know their heads from their arses, a Keeper who's better at picking his nose than protecting the posts, and me stuck as a Seeker replacement because even _without_ glasses Harry has better eyesight than this lot. We're doomed."

"Everyone said that about Ron, too, but he turned out fine," Hermione consoled.

"Yes, well Ron had the benefit of a good team to pick up his slack." Ginny scowled at the fire. Hermione sat there and watched her friend, not really sure how to commiserate with someone about quidditch. Why do people care so much about the sport, anyway? After a moment, Ginny's expression turned from a scowl, to a squint, to a raised eyebrow in Hermione's direction.

"Speaking of Ron," she began, "have you heard from him at all since that weekend?"

"Not a peep." Hermione sighed.

"Well, he can shove off. He shouldn't have waited so long. You're hot and young! What did he expect?"

Hermione laughed. "I'm NOT hot, and I'm older than you!"

"Come off it, you're smoking. At least Ernie has the brains to act on it."

Hermione blushed.

"You know, that reminds me. What was all that about Ernie buying you a quill? That was a pretty lame cover to spend spend time with you tête-à-tête, but it was the strangest thing. If I hadn't seen your bloody magnificent quill, I'd have believed the bloke. Every word."

"Hmm… I don't know."

Hermione could feel Ginny's eyes on her. "Well, what did he say when you two left?"

"We didn't talk about it really."

"Didn't I see you with another new quill just the other day? Plain next to that 20-galleon marvel you're hiding in your bedroom, but still pretty nice."

"Oh, I bought a new one." Hermione tried to keep her voice calm and her expression blank.

"Bullshit." Ginny always knew.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard. You didn't buy that quill for yourself. I want the whole story now, before I start throwing things. Don't make me mad at you _and_ quidditch."

Hermione eyed her.

Ginny picked up a mug and hurled it across the common room. Two third-years who had been hiding in a far corner, assuming they'd be safe from Ginny's wrath, screamed and ran.

Hermione huffed and uttered a quick _Reparo_. "Fine! Ernie bought me that quill."

"He bought you two? Merlin, how close are you?"

"No, he just bought me the new one."

"So, who's the fancy one from then?" Ginny wiggled her eyebrows.

"I, er, I don't know. But I don't want you to worry!" Hermione finished in a rush. "I checked with Professor Flitwick, and there's nothing sinister about it. I'm just not really going to use it." She swallowed hard. Deception for altruistic purposes was easy, but this was altogether different. Hermione hated the idea of lying to her friend, _especially_ about Malfoy. But, for some reason, she was't ready to come clean.

"Hermione Granger refusing to use a quill. What's this world coming to?"

"Oh hush!"

"No!" Ginny laughed. "Now, tell me more about the kiss."

Hermione groaned.

* * *

 _'I wish you'd have told me about this bloody quill sooner. I showed it to Ginny before I knew your game, and now she won't leave it be. She's calling it the "Mystery Quill Mystery," and I want to gag. I don't need this right now!'_

Hermione gave no preamble, and no explanation. She figured Malfoy of all people didn't deserve one for putting her into this situation, so she just launched straight into her rant. It turned out to be a short one. She was fully prepared to walk away, her mind spoken, but the reply came immediately. It scratched directly into her blue journal.

 _'_ _What the hell does that have to do with me? And for the mercy of Elminster himself, don't let that witch name her own children.'_

 _'Shove it, Malfoy, you know what it has to do with you. Why didn't you just put a note in the box or something so I knew it was from you?'_

 _'If I had, would you have used it?'_

Hermione thought for a second. _'_ _No.'_

 _'There you go.'_

Hermione huffed and dropped her head face-first to her desk. She groaned—something she seemed to be doing a lot lately.

 _'_ _Why's your friend so bloody involved in your business anyway?'_

 _'Good Godric, do you Slytherins know nothing about friendship? She just wants to be involved in my life. It's called caring.'_

 _'No, it's called prying.'_

She was loathe to admit it, but Malfoy had a point. Ginny was nonstop about Ron and about Ernie lately. Hermione figured Ginny was desperate to see her coupled off just like she and Harry were. Sometimes, though, she got the impression she was more serving as Ginny's personal distraction, even if unintentionally. It was actually a bit annoying. She found herself replying to Malfoy before really thinking through just how much she wanted to share with her former bully.

 _'_ _The thing is, I know she wants me to be happy, but she's trying to force it. At first it was with Ron until he checked out of life for a few months. Now it's nonstop about Ernie. I swear, she only cares about the quill because she thinks it's another option for her to obsess over on my behalf.'_

The pen was still for a full minute, blinking patiently in front of her. Finally, the light went solid and wrote, _'_ _Ernie?'_ Just the single word.

Awkwardness overwhelmed her. She grabbed the pen, then paused. Was he questioning her? Was he asking for more information? Was he going to tease her? Would he tell anyone what she said if she did share more? Hermione let go of the pen, and it went back to flashing.

After another minute, Malfoy continued. _'_ _I didn't think you'd be into him. He's a prat.'_

 _'Thank you SO much for your insight.'_

 _'Well color me an arsehole for not liking the guy who shoots first and asks questions later, at ME.'_

Another good point. It bothered her when Malfoy made those.

 _'_ _It's nothing, really. He's just a friend.'_

 _'A friend who might buy you expensive gifts?'_

 _'No, he owed me a quill. It was just a coincidence. Bad timing, if you like.'_

 _'Ah, from potions.'_

 _'Yes… Spying much? Maybe you're the one with a crush on Ernie.'_ Hermione chuckled and imagined Malfoy doing the same on the other side of their wall.

 _'_ _Ernie? Merlin, no. Now if Krum were to move here, I might consider it.'_

Viktor. She hadn't received a letter back from him yet, but the distance and his work probably played into that. Hermione's mind threatened to wander. He was another boy swirling up her emotions, which made her feel very off-balance. Her fingers itched towards the stack of books on her desk. It was all too easy to study away the uncertainty in her heart. She snapped back, aware she'd taken too long to respond as the quill began writing again.

 _'_ _It's a joke. Don't let that bushy head of yours explode.'_

 _'Aw, don't back out now, Draco. I can set you two up if you like.'_ She heard a snort through the wall.

 _'My hero,'_ came Malfoy's reply.

Then, the pen stilled. This happened often between them. They weren't friends, didn't really know each other beyond the superficial, and had only a few things in common. Half the time, she didn't know why she talked to him, except for the fact that he so readily replied. And, if she were being perfectly honest, she liked talking with someone who cared a little less about her feelings. Sure, there were topics they danced around at times, but Malfoy was blunt and brutal with his opinions. He didn't tiptoe over her feelings or fret over her health and happiness at every turn. Yet still, the interactions with him were new to her—to them both—and she felt clumsily speechless more often than she'd liked. What would she say to some other boy, maybe Neville or Seamus, if she were chatting with one of them instead?

 _'What about your love life?'_ Hermione cringed at her words. _'_ _Still chasing after any girl dense enough to dote on you?'_

 _'I've sworn off idiots, actually. I realized they're not harmless and might get you killed.'_ There it was again: the war. She pushed through.

 _'_ _Well, maybe you have your eye on someone tolerably smart, then?'_

 _'Really, Granger? We're talking about this?'_

 _'Why not? You asked about mine.'_

 _'And got a properly evasive answer. You and Ernie are just friends?'_

 _'Oh, forget it.'_

 _'Ha.'_

The pen went still, mocking her with each blink. The rest of their conversation was short and pointless. Hermione went to bed feeling restless. Her one mercy was that she didn't dream.

* * *

"Make haste! To your seats, and let's begin!" Slughorn bellowed over the class. His gut jiggled as he bounced around the room, surprisingly agile for a man of his age and girth, dropping down cauldrons and flicking books open before the students could even properly take their seats.

"The moon is waning, and we'll miss our window!" he boomed.

Hermione pulled back her hair and read through the final set of instructions furiously. She had already read them the night before, but she still wanted to be absolutely confident before she began.

Out of nowhere, a thick length slithered around Hermione's waist, constricting her. An image of Nagini's gaping maw burst into her mind. Never mind Hogwarts and Potions class. Her vision went white. Everything flashed DANGER! She shrieked and shoved the form behind her hard. That's when she saw Ernie's shocked face. He stumbled away from her with the force of her push.

"Oh, it's you," she breathed, and her vision cleared.

"Didn't mean to startle you." Ernie righted himself and grinned at her, but it didn't reach his eyes.

She tried to smile. "I didn't hear you come up," she said, then noticed several eyes around the room watching her, including the professor's. Ernie, on the other hand, was oblivious.

"Clearly!" He laughed a deep, booming laugh. "You know, it's been a while since we've had some time to hang out, just the two of us. Want a cuppa somewhere later?" he asked.

Hermione paused. She had half-expected Ernie to ask her out again, but she didn't expect an audience when it happened. What was the harm in enjoying a bit of time away from studying? Padma and the girls were pushing her to do it all the time. Her mind was quickly made up. "Sure," she said, "tonight after supper?"

Ernie grinned, and this time his eyes danced. "It's a date." He grabbed the list of final ingredients Hermione had set on their desk—having compiled it while studying the night before—and wandered off to the supply cupboard. Hermione smiled at his back as she watched him leave, until her eyes fell on a solitary figure at a table nearby. Malfoy. She missed catching his gaze by a millisecond; he was just turning back to his work. She studied him for a moment. His expression was blank and his hands steady as he lined up ingredients for his cauldron. She shook her head and turned back to her textbook.

* * *

"I think we're going to get top marks in Potions. I've never seen a wolfsbane potion so perfect. If we keep at it, we'll completely dominate the year." Ernie was regaling Hermione with the state of all his current academics. In other circumstances, she might have been interested. "How do you think you did on that Arithmancy quiz? I think I did well, except I might have botched part of the proof in problem seven."

"Hm?" Hermione could feel her eyes glazing and forced her brain to catch up. "Oh, yes, I think I did well."

Ernie studied her, then cracked a smile. "That's what I like about you, Hermione. Never afraid to admit to your strengths. It's kept me on my toes for years. Nothing wrong with some friendly competition!"

Hermione blinked. "Competition?"

"For top marks, of course!"

"Oh, right. Yes." Hermione had never considered Ernie competition in anything. He certainly didn't seem to be at the bottom of any classes, but his name was never at the top the same way that hers, or Padma's, or even Malfoy's was. She had assumed he'd been chosen as Head Student for more reasons than solely academics. That wasn't to say he wasn't smart. He kept talking, and she stared into the fire, humming or nodding every so often to give the impression she was listening. Ernie happily talked on. Okay, maybe not _that_ smart.

Hermione sipped her cocoa and wondered what it would be like to have Ron with her instead of Ernie. For one, Ron would be talking about quidditch, though he'd be equally oblivious to her lack of attention. But, would she really be happier with him at her side? Ernie at least stood a chance of understanding her interest in academics, even if he cared more about the notoriety of high marks than gaining the knowledge. There was no denying how much Ron cared for her, though, considering their history. Was that enough? Or, was it better to start with a clean slate?

"Did you hear me, Hermione?"

Ernie's face filled her view. She shook back to attention, then froze at the intensity in Ernie's eyes, which were alarmingly close to hers. He'd moved from beside her on the sofa and was crouching before her at eye level.

"I—" she whispered, but he interrupted her.

"I said you're eyes are beautiful," he whispered, and his hand cupped her cheek. "Everything about you is beautiful, Hermione, but your eyes pull me in. I could get lost in them." He closed his eyes and leaned in closer to her. She closed her eyes and let him connect their lips. He kissed her softly first, then firmly. She tried to meet his intensity, but her mind refused to turn off and enjoy the moment. Still, she kissed him back and focused on the softness of his lips and his thumb caressing her cheek. After a few minutes, he shifted to sitting next to her on the couch again. She took a breath and pulled back, unsure why she was stopping the moment. It was nearly perfect.

"Thank you for your help in Potions today," she said lamely. "We make a great team."

"We do indeed," he smiled. "Feeling tired?"

"Yes, actually," she chuckled. "Am I that obvious?"

Ernie reached behind her and smoothed his hand over her back. Warmth spread down her spine. "Get some rest. Maybe we can catch up again later this week?" He winked at her.

"That sounds lovely," she smiled back.

Hermione closed the door to her room and felt wide awake. She drew herself a bath and changed out of her school robes and into a bath robe. She was just selecting a book to bring in the tub with her when she noticed the lights flashing on her Twinned Quill. She set it to the next page in her journal and let it write out its message as she glanced through a collection of short stories by a series of Muggleborn authors who wrote mostly about wizards living in the Muggle world. An ironic choice, she mused, considering she was more disconnected than ever from her Muggle roots. She glanced back to the quill and was disappointed to see only a few words scrawled on the page. The color drained from her face as she read them.

 _'_ _Still just friends?'_


	23. Chapter 11b: Hiding

_May 2003—_

"Let's play a game!" Blaise announced and set down four shots in the middle of their table. They had tucked themselves into one of the corner high tops in the hotel pub.

"I love games," Luna said while looking out the window. "Have you ever played 'Find the Gurdyroot' or 'Thestral in a Thicket?' Those are my favorites." Her eyes traced the outlines of the cloud shadows, barely visible in the night sky, as she spoke. Blaise looked to Hermione instead.

Draco glanced around the Muggle pub. Not much action presented itself on a Sunday night to risk being overheard. He turned back to the group and locked eyes with Hermione, then looked down at his shot. He tuned into Blaise's chatter again.

"Well all the games I know involve you-know-what, so you'll just have to provide." He wiggled his eyebrows at Hermione. "Toe the lines, as _they_ like to say."

"The line," she corrected, "and that's not what that means."

"Oh." Blaise went crosseyed for a second. "Whatever, grip the broom handle and get on with it. We're waiting!" He gestured to Luna, who was happily humming at the ceiling.

Draco downed his shot.

Blaise gave him a look, then grinned. "Capital idea! One to get us warmed up." He threw back his own shot and jumped up. "I'm _so_ generous that I'll get the second round while you think." He pointed a finger at Hermione.

Another round of shots, several minutes, and a handful of heavy eye rolls later, the four of them settled on a round of ales and the only non-card-based drinking game Hermione knew. Luna and Blaise took turns asking ridiculous questions trying to understand the rules until Draco scowled at them both so hard that the game began.

"Look, I'll start; it's easy," Hermione said with more patience than Draco could've mustered. "Never have I ever been to China."

Draco took a drink.

Blaise sat back in his chair.

Luna stared at Hermione, then took two quick drinks.

"Luna, er, have you been to China?" she asked.

"No, Daddy and I rarely travel outside of Europe. Should I drink again?"

"No, no. If you've never been to China, you _don't_ drink. You shouldn't have taken any."

"All right, that's lovely."

"Blaise, why don't you go ahead." Hermione shrugged his way.

"Perfect, let me think. Never, ever have I…"

"Never have you ever."

"Right. Okay. Never have I ever… played with a Pygmypuff!" Blaise had a glint in his eyes.

Hermione chuckled and took a drink, then gestured at Luna to do the same.

Draco rolled his eyes and lifted his glass to his lips.

"What!" Hermione exclaimed. "When? Was it _yours_ _?_ "

"Calm yourself, Granger," he drawled. "It was Parkinson's or Davis' or someone from our year. Probably Pansy—couldn't take care of anything. She left the bloody thing in the Common Room all the time, and it never left you alone."

"It left me alone," Blaise laughed.

"Shove it. My turn." Draco paused to make sure their interest in those blasted puffballs had died. "Never have I ever kissed a ginger."

Hermione turned pink and looked like she was forcing her glass to her lips.

Luna sipped happily.

Blaise looked between the two, then burst out laughing, glass untouched, as Hermione glowered at him. "Sore spot, eh? Luna, you better take over before Hermione murders us all."

"Hmmm…" Luna began. "Never have I ever been a merperson."

They all stared at her.

"Luna, none of us have." Hermione raised an eyebrow at her, and Draco couldn't hide his smirk.

"Yes, I thought I'd give us all an easy one," she replied.

"Great idea," Blaise jumped in. "You're so thoughtful, Luna." He reached across the table and placed a hand over Luna's. His smile was far too playful for Draco's liking.

Fifteen minutes later, Luna had yet to offer up a good prompt. "Never have I ever seen an invisible thestral."

Draco groaned and ran his hands through his hair to keep from facepalming.

"No one can, because when you can see them, _they're not invisible_." Hermione whispered the last part. "And _please_ be careful, Luna." Somehow her patience still hadn't run out, but Draco suspected the alcohol helped.

"But you can see that there's something you can't see!" Luna protested, oblivious.

Draco's eye twitched. He had confirmed several times that they were alone, but Luna's lack of discretion was still annoying as hell. Best to move on from her insanity as quickly as possible. He took a drink.

Blaise followed.

Hermione huffed. "Fine!" She took a drink as well.

Luna grinned with a glint in her eye, and Draco smirked. Perhaps she had more wits about her than she liked to give on. She certainly used to. It was Hermione's turn next. Draco's eyes wandered to her on the pretense of awaiting her confession. He took in the pink blushing her cheeks and the indignant pout on her lips that she never knew she got.

"Never have I ever drank gurdyroot tea." She shot Luna a triumphant, little look as only Luna lifted her glass.

"My turn!" Blaise seemed to be steering his questions to more adult themes, which sent Draco's nerves on a rollercoaster. "Never have I ever had a ménage-a-trois."

Luna calmly took a drink.

Draco's eyes widened slightly.

Hermione looked shocked and immediately tensed.

Blaise's jaw went slack, and he had a hungry look in his eyes as they roamed over Luna's figure. She seemed to enjoy it.

"Never have I ever accidentally felt up a cousin," Draco interjected rather pointedly.

Blaise scowled and took a drink as Hermione and Luna laughed.

"It was a masquerade party in Italy! I wasn't expecting to find family there, and our masks were bewitched!"

The girls laughed harder, and Draco smirked inwardly.

"Let's see. Never have I ever ridden a broom," said Luna.

Both men gaped.

"Luna, you have to actually be telling the truth," Hermione chided her lightly.

"I do? Ooh, what's the fun in that?"

"It's okay, just use a truth next time." It was Hermione's turn. "Never have I ever… willingly played quidditch." She smirked at Draco as the three of them drank.

Several more minutes passed before Blaise had another gleam in his eyes when his turn came around. He'd taken every chance he could to touch Luna's hand, refill her drink, ask risqué questions, or make eyes at her in a way that made Draco want to vomit.

"Never have I ever been desperately in love." Blaise proclaimed and adopted a remorseful tone as he continued. "A sad truth that I hope to soon remedy. If only I knew someone to accept and return all the love I have to give." He threw a wink at Luna and pulled back out his characteristic grin.

Luna giggled and took a long pull from her drink while leaning in towards Blaise.

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached for her glass, then stopped.

Draco's jaw clenched, and his hand involuntarily tightened around his glass. He tried very hard not to look at Hermione's hand, then failed. He was too obvious, he knew it, so he did the only thing he could think of and stood up.

"I need the loo," he said flatly. Wrong choice. All eyes flew to him.

"You okay mate?" Blaise asked after a beat, still eyeing Draco for a read.

"Fine."

"Malfoy, I—" Hermione began, but he cut her off.

"Just the loo, Granger. I'll be right back." He started to walk away, then realized he was still holding his drink. He took a swig before setting it down.

* * *

Draco returned a few minutes later to find Hermione alone at their table with her arms folded across her chest. He walked up and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Our _delightful_ friends," she practically spat, "have gone off in search of better food. Blaise claimed he had a craving for something 'so delicious that his tongue would weep,' and Luna insisted that she needed to help him for his own safety, _should his tongue actually weep_. We're surrounded by idiots." She finished with a huff.

"Delightful," he drawled. "That's probably code for shagging."

"Great Merlin, please tell me they're not." Hermione shook her head.

"Probably not, but I can't ever rule it out knowing Blaise."

"I thought he said he'd never been in love?"

Draco couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic. "I don't doubt it."

They both paused. Hermione broke the silence.

"I, er… I mean— That's ridiculous.'

Draco nodded. There was a time when unsaid words were all Draco wanted to hear, but he found they were better left alone right then.

"Should we wait for them?" she asked.

"Not if you have any intention of eating before they close."

She smirked and picked up the menu.

* * *

The food was unexpectedly delicious for pub food, especially considering it was in the late hours of the night at an out-of-the-way and under-occupied inn in a smallish town. And, German food had never been one of Draco's favorites. Hermione seemed to agree judging by the way she ate, though it could also be that the ales they drank encouraged eating. And more drinking.

Over an hour had slipped by when Draco's head cleared up. He looked around, trying to remember something.

"Do you remember his face?" Hermione flew into a fit of giggles. She was mid-story, but all he could recall of the past hour was food, ale, and the red tint of her cheeks and nose growing more and more pronounced. And, her laughter. "Of course you don't," she continued. "I forgot, you were still strapped to that ruddy hospital bed by that wretched crone."

"Pomfrey? That's a bit harsh," Draco interjected. She'd healed many a quidditch wound for him.

Hermione scowled. "Maybe so, but I never liked her rigidity. When you can visit, number of visitors, where you can sit, no outside food…" She ticked each off on her fingers.

"Whose face?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"Whose face don't I remember?"

"Oh. Ritchie Coote, the old Gryffindor Beater." She shook her head as if to clear it. "I forgot it was in the Gryffindor Common Room, too. I'm getting confused by all the other boys I've slapped. Perhaps you remember them?" She grinned showing all her teeth.

Draco smirked and brought his hand up to his cheek. Then he remembered what he was trying to remember. "Where the bloody hell are those two?"

Hermione's spine popped up straight and she looked around. "You're right!" She checked her watch. "It's been ages!"

Just then, the bartender wandered by and collected up their plates and empty glasses. He dropped a tab on their table and smiled. His English was poor, and neither Hermione nor Draco spoke German, but they'd gotten along well with pointing and gestures thus far.

Draco grabbed the tab and nodded. "Danke."

The bartender nodded back and left with their dishes.

"Let's go find them. What do I owe?" Hermione asked.

"Expenses paid by the bank, Granger. I've got it."

She nodded.

A few minutes later (their tab all settled), Hermione led Draco up to their rooms, which they'd agreed was the easiest and most logical place to start. He stood behind her, examining her mess of curls as she held an ear to the door of her and Luna's room.

"Nothing," she whispered. She gave the same treatment to Draco and Blaise's door, then turned back to him with eyes alight. "I think I hear sounds, but I can't make it out."

"Just go in already," Draco said and handed her his key.

Hermione slid the key in the slot and pushed open the door. The light inside was scant compared to the bright hallway. Draco propped the door open for her as she flipped on the main lights and gasped. Over her head, he could see Blaise leaning back against the headboard of his own bed, _thankfully_ , while Luna ran her tongue down his chest. Aside from his discarded shirt, they were by some miracle still clothed. And oblivious, because Luna was licking back up Blaise's chest, then attacking his mouth, not noticing the lights or the new people in the room. He ran his fingers through her hair, then down her back, then rounded her ass and squeezed. He pushed her hips down against his, and she moaned.

"What the HELL is THIS?!" Hermione shrieked.

Blaise flung Luna off of him, which had no real effect since she landed in bed next to him, still caught in the act. Now that Draco could see her front, he averted his eyes from her unbuttoned top.

"Hermione," Luna giggled, but made no move to fix her buttons, "don't you knock?"

"You TOLD me that you'd be finding FOOD. Not running off to FORNICATE like a couple of TEENAGERS!"

Draco tried to appear small and innocuous against the wall. Even though he wasn't the target, he knew what happened when Hermione began over-annunciation words. She was ready to blow, and he had no interest in standing in her path—or her wake.

"C'mon, Hermione, it was just a bit of fun," Blaise grinned at her. _Oh, you stupid fool._

"Fun?"

Blaise nodded.

"FUN?!"

Blaise's smile fell.

Draco cast a nonverbal _Muffliato_ and checked that the door had fully closed.

"You two are the most irresponsible dolts I've ever met!" Hermione was borderline shouting. "You left me alone at the table in an unfamiliar place, when we just this morning had to RUN FOR OUR LIVES! You just ASSUMED that Draco would be back, but didn't even care to know for sure that we were okay! Because of what? A SNOG?! WE ARE WORKING HERE!" She took a ragged breath, and Draco noticed her gripping her wand at her side. Her knuckles were white. When had she drawn her wand?

"Hermione, we're sorry," Luna said with a clarity that surprised Draco given her state and general… self. "We thought that you and Draco might need some time alone together to talk about your past. And you can't blame us for enjoying our time alone as well." She grinned at Blaise. "I was sure you'd have a lot you wanted to explain, and I know Draco has a lot of feelings to share about—"

"STOP." He didn't mean to yell. Or, maybe he did.

"Draco, I'm just telling—"

"I said, _stop_ ," he growled. "You are done talking, or I am done here."

"Hang on there, mate, that's enough!" Blaise had stood up off the bed. "Don't talk to her like that."

Draco glared at Blaise. His message was clear: _shut up_.

"Ooh, is all this really necessary? Let's still have a nice rest of the night." Luna said and finally buttoned up her shirt.

"Don't be a fucking moron," Draco spat.

Blaise crossed the room in a flash, still shirtless, and stood inches in front of Draco. His lip curled up in disgust. "There is one reason that I'm not decking you right now," he hissed. "And it's not our friendship." He held Draco's stare.

Draco closed his eyes. "Fine." He turned to leave. To go anywhere. Being in that room a moment longer could not lead to anything good. He made it halfway down the hall before he was stopped dead in his tracks.

"Share about what?" A small voice asked behind him.

Draco glanced back to see Hermione several paces away. He turned to face her. "Do you really want to do this now?"

She looked up at him and took a few steps closer, but remained silent.

He held her gaze and walked back to her, stopping when they were less than an arm's length apart. He could touch her if he wanted to. Instead, he kept his eyes on hers, knowing that they were full of fire. "Do you really want to do this now?" he asked again.

"No," she said, and her voice almost didn't shake.

Draco nodded. Hermione turned back and slipped inside her room, and Draco continued down the hall. He walked around the block three times without a single thought entering his head, then made his way back up to his room. Inside, Blaise was asleep in his bed, and Draco noticed for the first time the half-empty bottle of brandy on his nightstand. Draco took a long pull from the bottle, then got ready for bed.

 _What harm, indeed._

* * *

Four robed figures flew on broomsticks through the biting night air across the border between Belgium and Germany. The leader of the group was flying with ease, but her three companions sat rigid and tensed. Being bound by magical ropes for hours on end would do that to you. If the shadows of the night and her hood weren't obscuring her face, a wry grin would've been seen spreading over her lips.

She closed her eyes and whispered an incantation. She could feel a pulse drawing her farther southeast. It was faint and obscured, but still there. She wasn't particularly surprised. The magic prowess of her mark was well known, but the old magic that fueled her tracing spell was enduring. She signaled to her companions that they would continue on. If they were upset about her choice, or still in pain from their run in earlier that morning, they didn't show it. They knew they deserved punishment for their failure.

The four figures flew on under the cover of night, target never varying. Eventually, a small town dotted the horizon. It quickly grew to speckled lights, then formed into windows and street lamps as they neared. The leader squinted her eyes. She'd been to this town once before—what was it's name? _Ah, yes: Saarbrucken._


End file.
